Evan grinned, sliding it onto his wrist and turning it to catch the light. Now I don’t have to keep stealing yours, Dad. My dad laughed and ruffled his hair. You earned it, champ. We’re proud of you. Earned it. The kid’s biggest accomplishment that month was making JV basketball and not getting suspended for vaping in the locker room.
I stood there waiting, waiting for somebody to remember, to look at me, to say the two words that actually mattered today. My mom glanced over, must have seen something in my face because she said, “Don’t look so bitter, Nolan. Life isn’t about material things. When you’re older, you’ll understand that character matters more than gifts.
” I felt like I’d been punched. She said it in that smooth, condescending voice she uses when she wants to sound wise. Like I was some spoiled brat throwing a tantrum over a toy. “Thought we were having cake,” I said quietly. “Oh, we had some earlier,” Evan said casually, not even looking up from his new watch. “While you were sleeping in?” I blinked.
“You had cake without me.” “It was just a small thing,” my mom said quickly. “Nothing big. Don’t make a scene.” Evan smirked. “My name was on it. You missed it, bro. I mean, it was sort of a joint celebration, but it’s not your birthday. Get over it. My dad snapped. It’s just a cake, Nolan. Stop being dramatic.
That’s when something in my head just went like a wire snapping. I looked at Evan, really looked at him, standing there with his $150 watch, wearing the hoodie I’d bought with my own money that he’d borrowed three months ago and never returned. “You know what?” I said, voice louder than I intended. “This is pathetic. You’re pathetic.
You haven’t earned anything in your entire life. You just coast while they hand you everything and pretend you’re special. Evan’s face went red. What’s your problem, man? My problem? I laughed and it came out wrong. My problem is I’m standing here on my birthday watching you get a watch for existing while they can’t even remember what day it is.
Nolan, my mom warned. That’s enough. No, it’s not enough. It’s never been enough. You treat me like I’m some stray dog you’re stuck feeding while you throw parties for the golden boy who’s failed every class except Jim. That’s when my dad moved fast. He grabbed me by the shirt, shoved me hard against the refrigerator.
My head cracked against the stainless steel. Everything went white for a second. “You’re done,” he said, voice low and cold. “You hear me? Done.” I shoved him back hard enough that he stumbled. His eyes went wide with shock. I had never pushed back before. Never raised my voice. Never fought. “Touch me again,” I said quietly. “And I’ll make you regret it.
” He came at me again, this time with his fist, caught me in the ribs. Once, twice. I doubled over, gasping for air. My mom screamed. Evan just stood there watching. My dad grabbed my face, forced me to look at him. “Enough,” he said. “We’re done celebrating a failure like you. You are just a mistake.
Now get out of my sight.” A mistake. That’s what I was, not his son. I straightened up, ribs screaming, tasted blood in my mouth, looked at all three of them, my mom crying fake tears. Evan still holding his watch. My dad breathing hard, fists clenched. And I realized something. They were never going to love me.
Didn’t matter what I did, how hard I tried, how small I made myself, I would never be Evan. So, I made a choice. I walked upstairs, grabbed my backpack, stuffed in a hoodie, some socks, granola bars, my phone charger, and the $180 I’d been saving in an envelope taped under my desk drawer. I had my ID, my debit card, and a Greyhound bus schedule I’d saved to my phone 3 weeks ago, just in case. At 2:00 a.m.
, while everyone was asleep, I slipped out the back door. I didn’t have a plan. I just knew I’d rather sleep on the street than spend another night in that house. The first four nights were brutal. Not going to sugarcoat it. I bounced between the 24-hour diner off Route 12, a corner of the public library until they kicked me out at closing, and a bench behind the YMCA that nobody checked after midnight.
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