I turned down her kindness, getting up on my own before returning to my room. As I picked up the diary on my desk, countless memories came flooding back.
When I was eight years old, we weren’t doing very well. The five of us were squeezed into an old, rundown house.
My parents struggled to balance their busy jobs with raising three children. Eventually, they decided to send one of us to live with our grandparents in the countryside.
However, Adrian was about to start high school, which was a critical time for his studies, while Nina was still too young and in poor health. They were too worried to send her away.
Not wanting my parents to worry, I volunteered bravely. And so, I was sent to the countryside. Before I left, Mom stroked my head, praising me for being the most thoughtful child.
However, nobody told me the price for being thoughtful would be staying at my grandparents’ house for a full eight years.
For eight years, I never saw my family except during Christmas.
Year after year, I watched as their clothes became more stylish and elegant. From that, I could tell that my family’s situation was improving.
I kept waiting for my parents to bring me home.
As I waited, I grew from an elementary school student to a high schooler. It was only after my aging grandparents passed away that I finally got to return home.
The small, rundown house from my memories was gone. In its place was a three-story villa.
My room was in the farthest corner of the first floor. It didn’t have shelves full of books, study materials, and gaming equipment like Adrian’s. It also didn’t have the cute, dreamy decorations like Nina’s.
My room was just like my place in this family—unimportant and always unnoticed.
