deaf ears

this family, love was conditional. And he never met the condition. At fourteen, he functioned as labor, not a child. Chores were not shared. They were assigned to him by default, spoken as expectations, not requests. If something wasn’t done, the question was never who forgot but why he failed. His siblings lived differently. Allowances. Electronics. Excuses. Noise. Mistakes that were laughed off or blamed on stress, school, age. When they broke something, it was an accident. When he did, it was character. His mother called it fairness. “You’re stronger.” “You can handle more.” “They need more support.” His father enforced it. No electronics. No allowance. No privacy. Work before school. Work after. Silence during meals unless spoken to. Gratitude expected for food, not affection. Pain was dismissed as manipulation. “I’m tired” meant lazy. “I’m hurt” meant dramatic. “Why don’t you love me?” meant disrespect. They told relatives he was difficult. Ungrateful. Cold. They never mentioned how often he was punished for things he didn’t do, or how often his siblings watched without consequence. By the time he learned to move quietly, to anticipate needs, to erase himself from shared spaces, they said he was finally improving. They wanted obedience, not healing. Utility, not connection. And when he stopped asking for anything at all, they said, “See? He never needed much.”