VALERIE'S CHILDHOOD FELT LIKE a blur of warm memoriesâuntil it wasn't.
growing up, things were almost perfect. she had two loving parents, a nice house, friends in the neighborhood, and a life that felt secure. her dad would take her out for ice cream after school, and on weekends, they'd go to the park or have movie nights. he was her hero, always making her laugh, always lifting her onto his shoulders, telling her she was going to be a star one day.
everything was perfectâuntil the day he left.
she was ten.
it was a quiet evening. the sun had just set, and valerie was sitting at the kitchen table, coloring, when the first sharp voice cut through the air.
"how long have you been hiding this from me?" her mother's voice, low and shaking.
her dad's reply was hushed. "it's not what you thinkâ"
"not what i think? you have a whole other family?"
valerie stopped coloring.
she didn't fully understand the weight of the words at the time, but something in her mother's voice made her stomach twist. she glanced toward the living room, where the voices were coming from, her grip tightening around her crayon.
"i didn't mean for it to happen," her dad said, quieter now, almost pleading.
a laugh, sharp and bitter. "oh, so you just tripped and ended up with a second wife and kid?"
valerie's heart pounded as she got up, her small feet padding toward the doorway. she peeked around the corner.
her mother was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed, her face twisted with something valerie had never seen before. her dad stood near the front door, suitcase in hand.
a suitcase.
something inside her snapped to attention.
"daddy?" her voice came out small.
her dad turned. his eyes softened instantly, guilt flashing across his face. "hey, sweetheart."
her mom's gaze snapped toward her. "go back to your room, valerie."
valerie ignored her, stepping closer. "where are you going?"
her dad knelt down. "i have to go away for a little while, butâ"
"when will you be back?"
he hesitated.
her stomach twisted.
"soon," he finally said.
valerie wanted to believe him. so badly.
but something about the way he said it, the way his hands gripped his suitcase, made her throat close up.
"don't go," she whispered.
his face crumpled.
her mother scoffed. "are you seriously about to cry? you did this, and now you're gonna stand there pretending you care?"
"it's not like that," he said, standing up.
"then what is it like, michael? because from where i'm standing, it looks a hell of a lot like you're abandoning your daughter for some other kid."
valerie's breath caught.
her dad turned to her mom, voice low. "don't do that."
"do what? tell the truth?" she let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. "you disgust me."
valerie's throat burned. "daddy, pleaseâ"
"i have to go," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
he kissed the top of her head, lingering just for a second, and thenâ
he walked out the door.
the sound of it closing was deafening.
her mother stood there for a moment, shoulders shaking, before she let out a broken soundâsomething between a sob and a laugh.
"unbelievable," she muttered, pressing a hand to her forehead.
valerie stood frozen.
her dad was gone.
her dad was gone.
"mom?" her voice cracked.
her mother turned, eyes red-rimmed, breathing uneven. and then something shifted in her expressionâsomething dark.
"this is your fault," she whispered.
valerie's stomach dropped. "what?"
"he never wanted a kid," her mother continued, voice raw. "i should've known. i should've known he'd leave us eventually."
valerie shook her head, panic rising. "butâhe loves meâ"
her mother let out a sharp laugh. "if he loved you, he wouldn't have left."
valerie flinched.
the words struck something deep inside her, something that would take years to undo.
because her mom didn't say it in the heat of the moment. she didn't yell it in anger.
she said it like it was a fact.
like it was the truth.
and for a long time, valerie believed her.
her dad never came back.
at first, he called. sent gifts. but then the calls slowed. the gifts stopped. until one day, it was like he had never existed at all.
her mother got worse.
at first, it was just the drinking. a few too many glasses of wine at night. slurred words. stumbling footsteps. but then it became something else.
"you're just like him," she would mutter under her breath, glaring at valerie from across the kitchen.
valerie was twelve the first time her mom threw a glass at the wall.
she hadn't even done anything. just walked in after school, set her backpack down. but the second their eyes met, her mother's face twisted.
"stop looking at me like that."
valerie blinked. "like what?"
"with those eyes."
she didn't understand at first. but then her mom threw her glass, and valerie ducked, heart racing as it shattered against the wall behind her.
"you think you're so much better than me?" her mom slurred. "you think you're innocent? you're just like him. selfish. a liar."
"i'm notâ"
"don't talk back to me."
valerie learned, after that, to keep her mouth shut.
olivia was the only one who knew.
they had met when they were seven, instantly glued to each other, and even back then, olivia had this way of making things feel okay.
on the worst nights, valerie would sneak out and go to olivia's house. sometimes they would talk, but most of the time, olivia would just hold her. no questions. no pity. just warmth.
"she hates me," valerie whispered one night, curled up in olivia's bed. "she told me to leave. she doesn't want me there."
olivia tightened her hold. "she's wrong."
valerie swallowed.
"you don't have to fix it," olivia said. "it's not your fault."
but it still felt like it was.
music became her escape.
she poured everything into itâthe loneliness, the anger, the ache of never being enough.
she wrote about leaving. about disappearing. about never wanting to feel like this again.
but no matter how much she sang, no matter how many songs she wrote, one truth stayed buried deep in her chest:
she was still that little girl standing in the living room, begging her dad not to go.
and he still walked away.
DO I LOOK LIKE HIMM??????