I glanced at Dad, hoping he'd come to my rescue. But he only gave me a look that made me go quiet.
Pretty soon, tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. I remember feeling so loved and special—Mom making my favorite food, Charlie always serving me first, and Dad paying attention to my appetite. The dining table used to be my haven.
But in a snap, everything just suddenly felt wrong and different.
The sharp clang of utensils on plates and occasional compliments on Mom's cooking screamed everyone's eagerness for the next bite. No one even glanced at my plate.
I felt invisible; nobody even seemed to notice I had left the table. Quietly, I ran upstairs, and that's when the tears finally spilled over.
For a moment, I glanced back at the dining room. Ginny smiled sweetly, thanking Mom and Dad like they'd just completed her dream.
In that instant, I felt like I was the orphan, watching someone else's family have the perfect dinner.
A metallic taste filled my mouth, and a mix of anger and sadness bubbled inside me.
Later that night, Mom came into my room with a plate of leftovers. The smell of the chicken wings I had craved all evening filled the air, but I had no appetite anymore.