Chapter Text
Usually people say when a baby is born it is the most happiest moments of a family’s life. But unfortunately that’s not always the case. This goes for your case.
You have always been overly observant, ever since you were young and could understand most things despite your age. By the time you were 5; you could tell that something was seriously wrong with your family. Well, specifically your mother though your father did not help either.
It started when you were 4. Around that time your father started to pay more attention to you than your mother, and you could sense some tension growing from her.
Your father doted on you, especially when it came to art. You always thought of yourself of a more artistic person than athletic but you never shunned the idea of playing a sport, you just like arts better.
Your father bought you all the finest papers and pencils. Markers, Pens, Crayons, Paints, Brushes, Easels. Anything and everything he could get his hands on. Your family was well off since your father was a CEO of his own company, so no expense was too high for him.
But on the other hand, your mother got nothing. More so the cold shoulder from your father, and you could tell she was not liking it one bit.
One day she eventually snapped, and slapped you across the face. Hard. You were so stunned you did not even cry as you brought you hand up to your cheek. For a moment you stayed silent before looking up at your mother. But your were only met with a look of disdain before she left the room.
Your father came home later that day, and panicked when he saw your face. Not wanting to snitch on your mother, you told him some kids were bullying another kid and you tried to stop the fight. You ended up getting slapped in the process.
Your father only sighed and told you to be more careful next time, but was proud that you tried to help another kid out. He told you to go sit on the couch while he went to find the first aid kit.
When he walked away you felt daggers being stared into the back of your head. Your mother was staring at you from the kitchen, and you knew she was mad as your father did not even acknowledge her presence.
This went on for an entire year. Your father only focusing on you, and your mother hating you for it. But for some reason; though you were happy with your father’s affection, you wanted your mother’s affection as well. You wondered if it was weird of you to find that the one time she choked you for a few seconds was a good memory. As it was the closes you two have been in contact for a long period of time.
Other times had been quick slaps, or punches to various areas of your body. But you still never told your father who exactly was doing it. Always coming up with an excuse, like you being clumsy or something along those lines recently. Your father though unhappy decided to teach you how to tend to your own wounds just in case he wasn’t around to do it for you.
He had been recently going on a lot of business trips, varying from place to place, so your bruises have gotten darker the longer he stayed away. Your lucky your mother was not too keen about your teachers inquiring about any of your bruises, so she hit in less visible places that could easily be covered by clothes.
On another particular day, the three of you were together. Your mother and you acting like everything was fine while your father remained oblivious to anything. He was not ‘dumb’ per se to not assume something was going on but he would never believe it would be his wife hurting their child. Preposterous.
Accidentally you knocked over one of your father’s expensive vases, and is shattered into pieces all over the floor. Your father was mad, more mad than he had ever been at you before, which is a rare sight to see since he never gets mad at you. Your mother played her part well and tried to quell your father’s anger as she moved to pick up the shards.
(Un) Fortunately she cut her finger on one of the pieces and your father rushed to her aide. You saw something click in your mother’s head as your father questioned if she was okay and ran to go find the first aid kit. You knew that nothing good was going to come from this situation.
And you were right. Lucky for you your mother stopped physically abusing you, so you did not have to lie to your father anymore. But she instead, abused herself. Accidentally cutting her finger while cooking. Tripping down a few steps of the staircase. Faking stomach aches, fevers and colds. Anything that would get your father’s attention on her instead of you, and you let her do it.
You were happy if your mother and father were happy. If father spending more time with mother was going to make her happy, then you would be happy too. As long as she did not hurt herself too badly. For some reason you can’t bear to see other people hurt.
But that might have been your biggest regret. One day you watched as your mother had almost hurled herself of the top of the staircase when your father stepped through the door -coming home-. You pulled her back just before she started to fall, both of you falling backwards.
Your father quickly ascended the stairs, but (un) fortunately he turned his attention to you instead of your mother and she lost it. She slapped you right there and then, right in front of your father.
“Why do you steal MY husband’s attention away from me! You little ingrate!” Your mother hissed at you.
You once again did not cry only held your cheek in your hand as you looked down. But everything went downhill from there. Your father started yelling at your mother on how she could possibly say that to their child. And like a weakend dam your mother’s act fell apart, she yelled and screamed. Revealing everything she had already done to you and herself over the year just to get your father’s attention.
You are broken, your father is broken, your mother is broken. Your family was a mess after that. Your father stayed away from the house, your mother locked herself in the master bedroom, and you pretended everything was normal as you attended school each day.
Life like this continued for you, as you went through life aimlessly. Drawing was not as much fun anymore and every painting was always a monochrome dystopian world. But on your birthday; February 14th, your world shattered like the vase you knocked over.
Your father had come home for the first time in months, but he did not enter the house. He stayed at the front entry and you approached him when he called you over quietly.
“I can’t do this anymore, Y/N.” Your father said looking at you in the eyes.
“You can’t do what?” You asked but you already had an idea where this was going, and you inwardly cursed your observant self for it.
“I can’t stay here, with you…or your mother.” Your father said, before pulling out a folder with divorce forms, and a gift bag. “These forms are for your mother. Please give them to her for me.”
“Why can’t you?” You asked looking from the folder in your hands to your father.
“I just can’t.” You father said looking away. “This is for you. Happy birthday, Y/N. I love you.” Your father said as he handed over the gift bag to you before leaving.
The worst thing is that you did not even bother stopping him. You knew it would only hurt him more then it was hurting you, and you cursed yourself for being self-sacrificial. You slumped down at the front door, putting the folder aside while you opened up your birthday present.
After taking out the tissue paper, you found a brand new smartphone and a note stuck to the packaging. You opened up the note and read it.
To my dear Y/N,
I’m sorry I’m doing this on your birthday. Please forgive me for that. But you don’t have to forgive me for what I’m doing to you and putting you through. As a father; I’m truly sorry that I ever let our family’s situation get this far.
I can’t believe I never noticed it. I was a fool to think you had gotten into so many fights at the small age of 4 and 5, that would leave such bruises on your body. I was a fool to think that your clumsiness was something you must have inhabited from your mother when she started to hurt herself all the time.
I am a sad excuse for a father, and I truly don’t think I have the right to be one for everything you have suffered through.
I want you to know that I’m divorcing your mother, and that we have actually talked about this before I dropped off the forms on your 6th birthday. So she knows that you have them, and that I had told you to give them to her.
I also want you to know, that I have found you a family to live with. They are my cousins and they have a son the same age as you, I have told them our family’s situation and they have offered to take you in as their own. Also if you want them to officially adopt you, I will understand and fully support your choices.
But please, if you can find it in your heart. Please let me see you once in awhile.
I left my new phone number here XXX-XXX-XXXX, for us to keep in touch. I will send your uncle your allowance and will pay for anything you want to do in life. I do hope you will continue with art, I always loved your paintings when you were younger.
I’m sorry again, Y/N. This is not how this should have turned out.
Sincerely,
Your father.
P.S.
The Sawamuras (Our cousins) will be coming to the house soon after I leave, so you should get prepared.
I love you to the moon and back. Happy 6th Birthday, Y/N
For the first time, you cried. Tears of pain, agony, anguish all flooding out at the same time. You hated the feeling of it, the choked sobs that escaped your mouth, the sting of your eyes as your tried to suppress the ongoing flow of tears. Your forehead resting on the ground as you curled over your knees clutching the letter and gift near your chest.
After about 5 minutes, you heard footsteps coming down the stairs. You did not need to move to know who it was, so you just listened as your mother made it all the way down the stairs and stood there for a moment before speaking.
“Did he leave?” Your mother asked from behind you.
“H-He..H-He d-did.” You stuttered, overwhelmed by your emotions.
Your mother walked over to you and picked up the folder, before glaring down at your back. “This is your fault.”
You made no movement to your mother’s words. You felt that she would be happy if you had agreed to her statement, but you could only choke out another sob.
Your mother kicked your side, rolling you over as you wheezed. “This is your fault! If only you weren’t here! Then he wouldn’t have left! Left me! This is your fault! Why did you do this to me?! I carried you for 9 months! 9 fucking months! You little ingrate! And this is the thanks I get! Divorce papers and my own son being taken away from me, so I’m left alone! This is your fucking fault, Y/N!” Your mother yelled and screamed as threw the folder against the wall.
You mother moved to straddle you; as you laid on you back still wheezing from the kick to your side. Your mother extended her arms down and wrapped her hands around around your neck before applying pressure.
“If only you weren’t born! I wouldn’t be like this! If only you weren’t born! Why is this happening to me! I was suppose to live a happy life! What is this shit I’m living in!” Your mother yelled as she squeezed your neck.
You could only stare up at your mother and watch as tears streamed down her own face. So with lack of oxygen coming to your head, you mustered a soft smile and tried to move one of your hands up to cups your mother’s cheek.
But before your hand could reach your mother’s face, your vision tunnelled as you were beginning to lose consciousness. But you did manage to hear the front door swing open and someone yell before you blacked out.
“Get off Y/N!”