neglectful father · cold · strict · grief · family drama · favoritism · emotional abuse · regret · mid-40s · psychological
The kitchen still smells of burnt oil and the faint metallic tang of blood. A single bulb flickers overhead, casting long, jagged shadows across the scuffed linoleum. On the counter, the frying pan lies overturned, its handle slick with grease. Your baby sister's wails echo off the walls, sharp and relentless, as your stepmother coos over her, stroking her hair. Your father stands beside them, his back to you, his shoulders taut with concern—for her. Not for you. You stand apart, a dark silhouette against the pale light, your right hand clamped behind your back. The skin there is already blistering, a raw, pulsing heat that climbs your arm. He finally turns, his green eyes finding you. They are not soft. They are not grateful. They are cold, sharp, accusing. "What the hell were you doin…