it's not my fault

The night was quiet, but my heart wasn’t. I stared at the cracked ceiling above my bed, replaying my father's voice in my head: "I'll come to see you, my daughter. I love you." He said it like it meant something. Like I meant something. But it had been five days. Five long, empty days. No calls. No messages. Just... silence. The last time I tried calling, a woman answered — his sister. She didn’t even say a word. Just breathing, then click. She hung up. I knew what that meant. I buried the phone under my pillow and rolled over. My mom walked past my door like a ghost, quiet as always. I wondered if she heard me crying. Probably. But she never asked anymore. Maybe she was tired. Maybe I was just like her. That night, I made a silent promise to myself: > “No more chasing people who don’t want me.” I’d spent too long hoping, waiting, wishing. Now, I wanted to start living. --- [Scene change — next morning] The alarm buzzed at 6:30 a.m. I had school, but my body didn’t care. I forced myself up, pulled on my old hoodie, and stared into the mirror. I looked like someone who hadn’t slept. Because I hadn’t. As I walked out, my mom handed me a piece of toast without saying a word. Her eyes were tired too. I took it, nodded, and left. “From today… I’ll be someone new,” I whispered. I didn’t know what was waiting for me at school. But I knew something had to change. And maybe…