Ten days before I was supposed to move into my college dorm, I finally broke down and texted the family group chat. "So, when are we leaving for that Miami graduation trip we talked about?" A full day passed.

Silence. Then, at six in the evening, my sister’s profile picture flashed on the screen. "Emergency!

Need cash for concert tickets right NOW!" The family chat, dead for twentyfour hours, exploded instantly, burying my message beneath a avalanche of notifications.

Within seconds, Mom and Dad sent a thousanddollar Zelle transfer. "Get four tickets, sweetie. Take your brother too.

Whole family goes." Tony immediately chimed in with a whine. "Who wants to go to some stupid pop concert?!

I want a new iPhone!" "Besides, when her high school entrance exam scores came out, I already had to drag myself to Miami with her!

Why do we have to compromise for her again?!" I stared at the glowing screen, my mind going completely blank.

All summer—for two agonizing months—I had been waiting, counting down the days for our family trip. And they had already gone?

Without me? "When did you go?" I typed, my fingers trembling. "Why didn't anyone tell me?" The moment I pressed send, my text was swallowed by Mom’s reply to Tony. "Fine, fine, we’ll upgrade your phone tomorrow, but you’re still coming to the concert." "We do things as a family.

Everyone stays together. No one gets left behind." No one left behind. Except me. Again.

My message was filtered out like spam, pushed up the screen until it disappeared entirely into the abyss of their plans. A small, quiet laugh bubbled up from my chest.

If their world had no room for me, I was done trying to squeeze through the cracks. I opened a travel app and bought a oneway Amtrak ticket to Boston.

When the trip was over, I would go straight to campus and check into my dorm.

For the rest of my life, the road back to this house would no longer feature me. … The screen flashed with a confirmation: "Ticket Booked Successfully." I tapped back to the family group chat.

In less than two minutes, the unread count had surged past ninetynine. Piper had proudly posted a screenshot of her confirmation email. "Got the tickets!

All four of them!" "I don’t care what anyone has going on that night, you clear your schedules for me!" Mom and Dad replied immediately. "Aye, aye, Cap! Schedules cleared.

Just waiting on orders from our little princess." Even Tony dropped a dutiful "1" in agreement. In this chat, no matter who spoke, everyone responded instantly.

Except when it was me.

My eyes drifted to the title at the top of the screen: "Welcome Home, Cathy." Dad had created the group three years ago, the day they brought me back from my grandmother’s house in the countryside.

He told me that if I ever needed anything, I just had to ask in the chat, and the family would be there for me.

Yet, whenever I texted to ask for the WiFi password, or which bus line took me to my new high school, the chat remained dead silent.

When I finally confronted them, Mom offered a smooth, practiced explanation: they were used to being a family of four. Adding a fifth person took time. They needed to adapt.

But wasn't I the one who had to adapt? Three years. The "family of four" they kept on the tip of their tongues never expanded to include me.

Even my legal name—Cathy Payne—was something my high school guidance counselor had forced my parents to register at the town hall during freshman orientation.

My grandmother had been illiterate and registered me under my childhood nickname, "Birdie." To save time, my parents tossed together syllables from my siblings' names—Tony and Piper—to forge "Cathy." It felt less like a name and more like an afterthought.

I almost preferred "Birdie." A text popped up from Tony. "ChickfilA for dinner?" Three "1"s flooded the screen in under five seconds.

The fastfood place was right at the entrance of our gated community, less than a tenminute walk. My stomach let out a hollow growl. I stood up, preparing to head out with them.

Then Mom’s private text popped up. "Dad and I are taking Tony and Piper out for burgers. There are leftovers in the fridge. Heat them up for yourself." I opened the fridge.

The only thing inside was a small bowl of vegetable soup that had been sitting there for three days, covered in a thin, greenish film. I took a picture and sent it to her.

I waited half an hour. No reply. An hour later, the front door clicked open. They were home.

Tony walked in, his nose glued to his shiny new iPhone, heading straight for his room without looking up.

Piper followed, both hands laden with colorful boutique shopping bags, humming as she went to try on her new clothes. I stayed on the couch, staring blankly at the TV, unmoving.

Mom glanced at me, her brow furrowing in instant irritation. "What’s wrong with you?

Your brother and sister come home, and you can’t even say hello?" My eyes fell to her phone, sitting casually on the coffee table.

My throat felt like it was coated in dust. "You guys went to Miami. You didn't say hello to me either." Mom’s expression froze.

A flash of genuine confusion flickered across her eyes. She turned to Dad, exchange a bewildered look. "Didn't you tell her?" Mom asked.

Dad frowned, scratching his chin as if trying to pull a vague memory from thin air. "Wait... she didn't come with us that weekend?" My knuckles turned white around my phone, then slowly loosened.

All summer, I had waited. Every time I brought up our graduation trip, Mom and Dad would say work was too crazy, that we needed to wait a little longer.

They waited until they left without me. I picked up my phone and sent Mom an emoji on WeChat. A few seconds passed.

Her phone screen on the coffee table stayed pitch black, silent as a grave. For Tony and Piper, my parents had enabled emergency notifications.

Whenever the two of them texted, Mom’s phone would chime repeatedly and vibrate like an alarm until she picked it up.

Mom waved her hand in front of her face, exasperated. "So you didn't go. Big deal.

There’s plenty of time for trips in the future." Dad chimed in, stepping closer to point a scolding finger at me. "Cathy, you’re the older sister.

Stop competing with Tony and Piper over every little thing. You’re making things difficult for no reason." I looked up at them, my voice flat. "I wasn't competing.

You promised me a trip if I scored above a 1500 on my SATs." "If I hit that goal, we’d go together. As a whole family.

No one left out." Mom picked up Piper’s jacket, which had been tossed carelessly onto the floor, and carefully brushed off a specks of lint.

She didn't look at me. "And what did you score, exactly?" The words caught in my throat. The very second my test results came out, I had posted a screenshot in the family chat.

Fearing they had missed it, I had even sent it to them individually in private messages. Dad caught my silence and scoffed. "Too ashamed to say it out loud?

Look, with those terrible grades of yours, the family didn't bring it up to protect your selfesteem." My eyes wandered over to the wall in the dining room, covered in Piper’s academic ribbons and certificates.

Yes, I had failed a test once. It was my very first practice exam after moving back here—a new city, a elite private school, a blistering curriculum I couldn't keep up with.

I failed before I even learned where the cafeteria was.

At the parentteacher conference, the look of sheer embarrassment on my parents' faces became the fuel that drove my desperate, relentless studying for the next three years.

I thought that if I became as exceptional as Piper, my messages would finally be answered.

It wasn't until Tony brought home an F on his algebra midterm—and Dad simply laughed, signed the paper, and took him out for ice cream—that I finally understood.

There are a thousand excuses for neglect, but they all boil down to the same brutal truth: you simply aren't loved. I didn't bother defending my SAT score.

Silently, I turned and walked back into my room—a narrow, windowless space that used to be the house's storage closet—and began packing my life into a suitcase.

My train was the day after tomorrow. I hadn't managed to get a sleeper car; it would be a grueling twentyhour ride in a standard seat.

The next afternoon, I went out to buy travel toiletries and sunscreen.

When I returned, Mom was coming out of my room, pushing my duffel bag and hardshell suitcase onto the balcony. "Great, you’ve already packed your stuff.

That saves us a ton of work," she said, dusting off her hands. "Cathy, you’ll just have to sleep on the couch for the next few days." I stared at her, stunned. "Why?" "Because I’m turning your room into a gaming suite for Tony!" Tony poked his head out of his doorway, a triumphant grin plastered on his face. "Come on, Cathy, you’re moving into a college dorm anyway.

Leaving the room empty is a total waste." My fingers tightened around the plastic bag in my hand.

My throat burned. "And where am I supposed to stay when I come home for holidays?" Mom carried my comforter out and tossed it onto the balcony floor alongside my bags. "For short breaks, you can just crash on the couch or use an air mattress.

For winter break, we’ll just book you a room at a hotel nearby." She let out a small, relieved sigh, as if she had finally managed to check off a tedious item on her todo list. "Don't worry, we won't abandon you." She sounded like a landlord finally clearing out a squatter.

I bent down and picked up my acceptance letter, which had slipped out of my backpack onto the floor.

Once, this piece of heavy cardstock was my ultimate bargaining chip, my desperate plea for their pride and affection. Now, it was the only lifeboat I had left. The doorbell chimed.

Delivery workers swept in and out of the foyer, stacking large cardboard boxes in the living room. Dad called out enthusiastically, "Piper! Tony! Come here, quick!

The frames and photo albums are here!" The largest package was unboxed to reveal a massive, gallerywrapped canvas portrait of the family, designed to hang in the center of the living room.

I wasn't in it. It was just like when I was a child living with my grandmother.

My parents would print the prettiest photo of Tony and Piper to hang in their living room, updating it every single year.

During my first year back, when I heard they were booking a family photo shoot, I was so excited I couldn't sleep all night.

But the next morning, they told me the package had been prebooked for four people and couldn't be altered, telling me to wait until next year.

The second year, I finally stood in the studio with them. But when the physical album arrived, I was missing again.

Only later did I find out that after I left the studio that day, they had taken a second set of photos without me.

When picking the final edits, they simply discarded every frame I was in. And this year's shoot? I hadn't even known it happened.

Noticing me staring silently at the massive frame, Mom pulled a small, loose print from an envelope and shoved it into my hand. "Alright, don't look so sour.

Look, you’re in this one." I looked down at the photo. There were indeed five people.

But the girl standing on the edge was wearing a faded school uniform, completely out of place against the crisp, colorcoordinated beige outfits the other four wore.

They had taken my senior class photo from the school portal, cropped my head out, and photoshopped me in.

I looked at the grand family portrait on the wall, and then at the Frankenstein photo in my palm. It was suddenly so absurd, so utterly pathetic, that I felt nothing at all.

I turned, walked into the kitchen, tore the photo into tiny, irrecoverable shreds, and dropped them into the trash can.

After dinner, I gathered my comforter and prepared to lay down on the couch for the night.

Piper suddenly stepped in front of me, crossing her arms. "My friend is coming over to stay for two nights.

How is it going to look if she sees you sleeping on the couch like a beggar?" I stared at her. "She’s your friend.

Why would it matter to me?" Piper pursed her lips, sneering. "Because people will talk!

They’ll think my family abuses you or something!" "So you "know" it’s unfair," I said quietly. Piper choked on her words.

Her face flushed red with rage, and she turned around to call for backup. "Mom!

Dad!" My parents rushed out of the master bedroom, immediately laying into me without asking a single question. "Piper is just thinking about this family’s reputation!

Why do you always have to be so confrontational?!" "Cathy, are you even a part of this family or not?!" For three years, I had been an outsider in this house.

Now, when they needed me to compromise and swallow my pride, suddenly I was family.

I looked at Piper calmly. "Where is your friend sleeping?" "In my room, obviously!" she snapped. "And where am I supposed to sleep?" Mom and Dad answered in unison: "We’ll get you a hotel room." That was my true weight in their minds.

Less than a guest. Less than a stranger.

This time, I didn't argue. "Okay." I turned toward the balcony, packed my comforter into my duffel bag, and slung my backpack over my shoulder. My train was tomorrow afternoon.

Once I checked out of the hotel, I could go straight to the station. I would never have to step foot in this house again.

Mom forwarded the hotel reservation details to my phone, her eyes lingering on my heavy luggage. "It’s just two nights.

Why are you dragging all your bags with you?" "It was making the balcony look cluttered," I said casually.

Dad opened his mouth to ask something else, but Tony burst out of his room, grabbing their arms. "The interior designer sent over two different concepts for my gaming room!

Come help me pick!" I watched the four of them huddle tightly around Tony’s phone screen. I turned and walked out the door.

As the front door clicked shut behind me, a strange wave of vertigo washed over me.

It felt like three years ago, when I first left my grandmother's house, holding a suitcase and wearing a backpack.

Back then, I was terrified, yet full of fragile hope for the new life awaiting me. Now, all I wanted was to get as far away from them as humanly possible.

The roadside motel was located right outside our subdivision. The moment I swiped the keycard and opened the door, a thick, suffocating smell of damp mildew hit my nostrils.

I rushed to open all the windows, but the stench lingered, heavy and stale. Looking at the peeling wallpaper and the stained carpet, an uneasy anxiety began to twist in my gut.

I remembered the horror stories I’d read online about cheap motels.

Following a guide I had seen on social media, I turned off the lights and began checking the room with my phone camera.

In the bathroom, behind the plastic vent cover directly above the shower, I saw a tiny, reflective glass lens. A hidden camera.

A cold sweat broke out across my back, and a paralyzing terror instantly swallowed me whole. My hands shook violently as I pulled out my phone and instinctively dialed Mom.

No answer. I dialed again. Nothing. On the third try, she finally picked up. "Mom..." my voice trembled, raw with panic. "This motel isn't safe.

I found a hidden camera in the bathroom..." The background noise on her end was deafening—music, laughter, chatter. I wasn't even sure if she could hear me over the noise.

Before I could repeat myself, Mom cut me off, her tone dripping with annoyance. "Then call the police!

Piper’s throwing a welcome party for her friend right now, and I am up to my neck in host duties." "Cathy, you’re an adult now.

Learn to handle your own problems instead of dumping them on us." "Click." The line went dead.

The rhythmic "beeepbeeepbeeep" of the disconnected call sounded like a dull blade, severing the very last thread of delusion I held toward them.

It took me a long moment to gather my breathing. Then, I dialed 911. I didn't dare stay in the room. I unlocked the door and stood out in the dimly lit hallway, trembling.

Those ten minutes waiting for the officers felt like an eternity. The police arrived, inspected the scene, gathered evidence, and took me to the station to file a report.

By the time I finished signing the paperwork, it was nearly midnight. I stepped out of the precinct into the pitchblack night, the terror still clinging to my chest.

Seeing my pale face and trembling hands, the officer on duty asked if I needed a ride home. I shook my head.

That place was no longer my home. "Officer... could you drop me off at the train station instead?" I spent that night sleeping on a hard metal chair in the station’s waiting hall.

It was loud, cold, and uncomfortable. Screaming toddlers, loud snorers, and the smell of stale instant noodles filled the air.

Yet, strangely, I slept deeper than I ever had in three years. When I woke up, I bought a bottle of water and a snack from a vending machine.

There were two hours left before my train. I pulled up the family group chat: "Welcome Home, Cathy." The unread count was back to 99+.

They were chatting casually about things that had nothing to do with me. This time, I didn't scroll up to read. I didn't try to decipher their moods or search for a gap to join in.

I tapped "Settings", scrolled to the bottom, and permanently left the group chat.

Then, one by one, I pulled up the contact profiles for Mom, Dad, Tony, and Piper, and added every single one of them to my block list.

It felt as though a massive boulder, weighing on my chest for three long years, had finally tumbled into the sea.

A middleaged woman sitting beside me offered a warm smile. "Heading out on vacation, sweetie?" "Something like that," I smiled back. "Are you local?

How long are you going to be away?" I looked toward the boarding gates as the announcement chimed over the speakers. "I'm not coming back." Never again.

Five days later, at the Payne residence. Piper’s friend had left, and Tony’s new gaming room was completely finished.

Mom smoothed out the throw pillows on the living room sofa. "Alright, tell Cathy she can come back home now.

She actually has a place to sleep this time." Dad pulled out his phone and dialed my number. "The number you have dialed is currently unavailable..." He blinked, confused.

He tried again. The same automated message played. Mom huffed, opening her messaging app to type out a text. "Cathy, have you completely lost your mind out there?

Answer your phone!" She hit send. A harsh red exclamation mark popped up next to the bubble. "Message failed to send.

You are no longer in this user's contact list..." The shock on Mom’s face instantly twisted into pure rage. "She blocked me?!

How dare she!" Tony, lounging on the recliner, smirked. "Told you.

She’s throwing a tantrum because Piper wouldn't let her sleep on the couch." Piper glared at him. "If she’s mad, it’s because you stole her room and kicked her out!" "I didn't steal anything!

Before she came back, that room was supposed to be mine anyway! I just let her stay there as a guest!" "Enough!

Both of you, shut up!" Dad shouted, rubbing his temples to soothe a pounding headache. He turned to Mom, his tone surprisingly dismissive. "Cathy has always been sensible.

She won't hold a petty grudge over something like this. Besides, the hotel she’s staying at is right at the neighborhood entrance.

Let's just walk over and see what’s going on." The two of them walked down to the main street. When they arrived at the motel, they froze.

The glass doors were sealed shut with heavy police tape, stamped with an official government seal.

Mom stood frozen on the sidewalk for several seconds before frantically grabbing the owner of the flower shop next door. "What happened here?

Why is this place shut down?" The shopkeeper eyed her up and down. "Shut down? The owner is going to prison for a long time." "You haven't heard?

That scumbag installed hidden cameras in every single room. Heard he was selling the footage on dark web sites. Pure evil..." Mom stopped hearing the words.

Her body went completely rigid as she stared at Dad, her eyes wide with terror. Her throat choked up, and her voice came out as a raspy, trembling whisper. "I...

I think I got a call from Cathy the other night... saying she was in danger..."