"I can't believe I have a useless daughter like you! How dare you frame your aunt like this? My sister would never do such a thing!" My mother's voice sliced through the air, sharp and cutting, echoing in the small, dimly lit room.
"She hit me," I replied, barely above a whisper, my heart racing with a mix of fear and frustration.
"So what? She's your aunt! She can do that. She's educating you, not hitting you," my mother shot back, dismissing my pain as if it were nothing more than an annoying fly buzzing around her head.
I fell silent, the weight of her words pressing down on me. I knew that no matter how I explained, nothing would change. My mother's love felt like a distant dream, something other children experienced but never me. I had spent years trying to understand why I felt so invisible, why her affection seemed to be reserved for everyone but me.
