no voice 2

They never called him the problem out loud. They used cleaner words. Responsibility. Structure. Preparation. Words that sounded respectable when spoken slowly. In their house, favoritism wasn’t loud. It was procedural. His parents believed strength was manufactured through deprivation. So they gave him less of everything. Less rest. Less privacy. Less permission. Less childhood. They said it was necessary because his sister was delicate. Because she needed encouragement. Because she responded better to kindness. He responded better to orders. He handled the mornings. Breakfasts prepared. Bags packed. Floors swept before school. After school, more assignments waited. Not requests. Expectations. There was no allowance. No phone. No television. Entertainment was considered distraction. His sister received praise for small things. A drawing. A mood. An attempt. He received silence for completion and correction for imperfection. When relatives asked why he looked tired, his parents laughed. “He’s a worker.” “He likes being useful.” They framed neglect as trust. Overwork as honor. Obedience as love. By the time teachers noticed something was wrong, he had already learned the rule that mattered most. Speak only when addressed. Need nothing. Endure quietly. They were proud of what they’d built. A child who asked for nothing because nothing was coming.