Chapter 2: The Invisible Daughter

My mother tried to talk sense into him, but he just puffed himself up: "I’m the King of Poker! I even won big the other day!"

He’d strut around, waving a handful of bills. Bragging to anyone who’d listen. But the next day, the money would be gone, and the bills would pile up on the kitchen table.

For a while, maybe he really was lucky.

There were nights when he’d come home, pockets bulging, tossing a few crumpled dollars at me like it was some grand gesture. I learned early that luck never lasted long in our house.

But he never gave a cent to my mother; he kept it all for himself. God knows what he did with it.

She’d ask him for grocery money, and he’d wave her off, telling her to make it stretch. Sometimes I’d catch her counting coins behind closed doors, trying to stretch a dollar into a week’s worth of meals.

Big fights every few days. Little ones, almost every day.

The air in our house was thick. I learned to tiptoe, to read the room before I spoke. I became an expert at disappearing when voices got too loud.

My father didn’t care. My mother worked herself to the bone just to raise me.

She picked up shifts wherever she could—diner, grocery store, even cleaning houses. She’d come home exhausted, but always managed a smile for me. I never understood where she found the strength.

This went on until I finished elementary school. That summer, disaster struck—my mother died of a heart attack.

The world just... stopped the day she died. I remember the ambulance lights flickering through the window, the neighbors whispering outside. I clung to her pillow for weeks, desperate for the scent of her perfume.

After she was gone, life turned into hell.

The house felt colder, emptier. Leonard barely looked at me. I learned to make my own breakfast, to do laundry, to keep out of his way. The days blurred together. Just me, alone in a fog of loneliness.

Leonard remarried. My new stepmother, Diane, moved in—with her son.

Diane came with a tired smile and a son in tow. But the house was already broken. Her boy—Christopher—was Leonard’s, too. Turns out, the cheating started long before my mother died.

Turns out, the cheating started long before my mother died.

The betrayal stung in a way I can’t explain. It was like my mother’s absence had been planned, like I’d been replaced before I even knew I was losing her.

All the money Leonard won went to Diane and his other son.

I’d find receipts for toys and clothes I’d never seen, gifts for a family I wasn’t part of. It was like a stone in my chest.

Grandpa doted on Christopher. Called him the Walker heir.

Every holiday, he’d call Christopher the ‘Walker heir.’ Sometimes I’d hear them laughing together in the living room, their voices echoing down the hallway. I’d hide in my room, pretending not to care.

Leonard paraded Christopher around, showing him off to anyone who’d look.

"My boy—Leonard Walker’s boy—he’s got a bright future ahead!"

He’d introduce him as his pride and joy. Me? I’d stand off to the side, invisible.

The way he doted on Christopher made me jealous.

I wanted to hate Christopher, but he was just a kid—lost, like me. Still, every time Leonard bragged about him, a part of me just... shriveled.

So I did everything I could to stay on his good side.

I learned to read his moods. Tiptoe around his temper. I’d do extra chores, bring him coffee, anything to keep the peace. I was terrified he’d toss me out, that I’d have nowhere left to go.

Every day, I walked on eggshells. Terrified he’d kick me out.

Every creak of the floorboard made me flinch. I’d rehearse apologies in my head, just in case. Survival meant staying small. Staying quiet.

After she married Leonard, she had it just as tough as me. After marrying in, Diane also became another target for Leonard’s temper and demands.

Diane would sneak me cookies or whisper something nice when Leonard wasn’t looking. She was always tired, always wary, but she never raised her voice at me. In a house full of storms, she was a brief patch of calm.

In this family, only Christopher mattered to Leonard.

He got everything. The best seat, the new sneakers, the biggest slice of cake. I learned not to ask for seconds, not to expect anything more.

Leonard came home drunk and yelled for me.

He staggered into the living room, reeking of whiskey, and collapsed onto the couch. The TV flickered in the background as he waved me over with a sloppy grin.

He sat on the couch, burping, and said:

"Maddie from down the road went out to work and support her family after middle school. I’ve spent so much money raising you—don’t you think it’s time you paid me back? Go work at the factory and give your room to Chris."

His words hit me. Hard.