My name is Danielle Mercer, and I’m 29. If you ask my parents, they’d tell you I’m fine, doing okay, getting by—the kind of vague description people use when they don’t want to admit they don’t really know your life anymore. But I remember every time they proved it, every “we forgot to tell you,” every “it just didn’t work out.” Every trip I saw later in photos, smiling faces in places I’d never been, posted like I was never supposed to notice the empty space where I should have been. So, when Dad stood up at my younger sister Ashley’s 23rd birthday dinner, tapping his glass with a fork like he was about to deliver something grand, I didn’t expect anything good. The table was crowded and loud. Drinks had been passed around so many times I’d stopped counting. Dad was five drinks in, maybe more—his cheeks flushed, his grin wide. Ashley sat beside her husband, Josh, glowing in that way people glow when they’re used to being celebrated. Dad cleared his throat and said,
“We decided to go to Europe without you.”
I blinked. Without me? I waited for the punchline, for him to laugh and say he was joking. For someone to glance my way and realize how brutal that sounded, but Ashley cut in before I could even speak.
“Good,” she said, smiling like she just told the joke of the century.
Everyone laughed. Not real laughter—that awkward, half-hearted kind where people aren’t sure if it’s safe, but they don’t want to be the one who kills the mood. And honestly, I wasn’t even angry. It was just familiar. Another reminder that I was always the odd one out. That no matter how many times I showed up, no matter how many birthdays I attended, no matter how many polite smiles I forced, I was still optional. My parents had taken four big trips over the past few years, and I’d never been invited. I always made excuses: work schedule, timing, whatever lie was easiest to swallow. But this time, I wasn’t in the mood to pretend. So, I laughed, too. That caught everyone off guard. I leaned back in my chair, took a slow sip of my drink, and asked,
“What money do you plan to use for this trip?”
Mom and Dad exchanged confused looks.
“What do you mean?” Dad asked, his grin fading.
I chuckled again, shaking my head like I couldn’t believe I was the only one willing to say it out loud.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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