Left in the Snow, Built in Silence

I was twelve when winter stopped feeling cold… because that night, it felt cruel.

After my father passed away, the house didn’t feel like home anymore. My stepmother looked

at me like I was a burden she never asked for. And my stepsister… she followed her

silence with smiles that never reached her eyes. That night, snow covered the

streets. The heater was on inside… but not for me. She handed me a

small bag. No anger. No tears. Just words that cut deeper than

the cold. “You don’t belong here anymore.” The door closed. Not loudly.

Not dramatically. Just… finally. I slept on benches. In bus shelters. Anywhere the wind