They promised. My father promised, too. But promises don’t hold weight when there’s no one left to enforce them.

Two years later, my dad remarried. His new wife, Julia, came with her own package: a thirteen-year-old daughter named Madison.

I didn’t resent them at first. Mom was gone, and I thought maybe this new family might help patch up some of that emptiness.

But I quickly realized how things would really play out in that house: Madison first, Julia second, Dad floating somewhere in the background, and me? I might as well have been a ghost.

It began with small things. The fridge and water heater broke down one summer. Dad dipped into my trust fund without asking to fix them.