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Kids are painfully oblivious, yet so aware at the same time. They might not understand why parents or siblings or adults do what they do, but they know when it’s happening. When her father brushed her off for the first time when she was 5, Y/N wasn’t aware why, but she knew it hurt. She had gone up to her father to show off a cool bug she found, what bug exactly she can’t remember, when he had blown her off, favoring going back to teaching Techno various fencing positions. It stung her heart slightly, but she had gone back to the edge of the woods, letting the bug crawl off her hand before she skipped away.
Slowly, these occurrences grew. It started out small, but slowly progressed to bigger actions. What began as Philza favoring her brother’s attention over her’s turned to forgetting to make lunch in the mornings, neglecting to wake her up on the weekends for breakfast. The plague soon spread to her brothers; Techno no longer invited her to read with him, Wilbur sang alone or with someone else, and Tommy went off adventuring on his own with Tubbo, never sparing a glance towards her as he traveled to the village.
Y/N supposed this was fine.
The pink paint that had once covered her walls thoroughly had chipped away over time, showing the previous blank slate. Toys remained in her room, long after she had outgrown them, and children’s books found themselves being deposited at the children’s library by Y/N after years of collecting dust on the small wooden dresser in her room. But as her space stayed stagnant throughout the years, the rest of the house grew separately, each bedroom getting a spruce up at some point, gaining new furniture, paint, and electronics, all paid for by Phil’s cushy job.
The girl had begun to hint at the possibility of having her room redecorated a few years ago, Phil always dismissing her with a wave of his hand.
“We can talk about it during the weekend, not when everyone’s so busy.” He said, not once looking away from his office computer as he addressed her. The weekend would come, and the conversation would never happen, always fading away by the time Saturday dinner rolled around.
It began to get worse when she and Tommy entered middle school. Y/N had expressed a love for theatre and poetry, her English and Drama teacher always sending home raving comments on her report cards. So when a dramatic interpretation club had popped up, Y/N had been one of the first to sign up, excited to demonstrate her new interests in the fine arts. Club meetings had always coincidentally fallen on the same days as Techno’s fencing club, or Tommy’s video game club, so she had always ridden home with at least one of her brothers. But when the time for the competitions came, which had fallen on a Friday instead of Tuesday or Thursday, Y/N had expected her family to be cheering her on from the seating area, watching her jaw-dropping performance.
They weren’t in the crowd. They weren’t waiting in the Foyer to shower her in hugs either when she walked out of the auditorium with a 2nd place medal. They weren’t even at the school. Y/N patiently sat and wait for her family to show up, scanning the line of cars entering the parking lot as the horizon got darker and darker. A teacher had begun to question where her parents were, an embarrassed blush climbing up her neck as she sputtered out a lie.
“Oh! That’s them. I’ll be heading home now!” She lied straight through her teeth, waving merrily as she exited the building. When no one was looking, she sprinted to the woods, deciding to walk the backway to her house, despite how scared she was. Thirty minutes of walking in the warming spring weather later, and she had arrived at her house, an angry Phil waiting on the porch. “Where in the world were you?” He yelled, crossing his arms as Y/N looked down shamefully. “I had a competition for my club today, Dad. I got 2nd place!” She held up her medal, meeting the stern gaze of her father.
“Just come in, it’s getting cold.” He guided her into the house, Y/N seeing Minecraft booted up on the living room T.V, Phil immediately grabbing his controller and going back to playing. Her brothers were there two, focused intently on the screen as they shouted at each other, paying no mind to their sister who had just traveled through the woods alone, right after scoring highly in her club competition. She slinked to the kitchen, tears starting to prickle at her eyes as her stomach gave a growl. She hadn’t had time to eat while at the school, maybe she could get a quick bite to eat? Opening the fridge, she was met with the sight of her favorite restaurant’s leftover box, an item that hadn’t been there in the morning. Touching the box, she confirmed her worst suspicions.
They had eaten at her favorite restaurant without her, on the night of her big competition. She slowly sneaked back upstairs, little whines trying to escape her throat as tears slipped down her cheeks. Y/N spent hours locked in her room, her crying being muffled by her pillow, the walls, and the volume of her family downstairs.
Her medal laid forgotten on her nightstand.
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Y/N was 16 when she decided to run an experiment on her family. After years of being pushed to the sides, to cry in her childhood bedroom alone as everyone else lived their lives, the teen wanted to see if something was true. She was used to walking home alone during the night and had gotten quite good at navigating her town without much struggle, after being forgotten about time and time again. The girl had wanted to try the extreme out. After stashing away food and water in her room, hiding it in various nooks and crannies, she wrote down her question in her newly acquired notebook for this occasion; What would happen if Y/N isolated herself from her family? For one week, she wouldn’t come down for family dinner, wouldn’t talk to her brothers or father without them approaching her first.
Hypothesis: If she ignored her family for the entire week and didn’t initiate conversation, then at some point they would come to her and express concern about her new behavior because they loved her.
Her hypothesis sounded correct. After writing down her expectations and important outside factors that could influence the results, she climbed into bed, being lulled to sleep by the hope of her family coming to her rescue.
Monday morning soon came, with the trumpet of her alarm shaking her from her slumber. Climbing out of bed, she quickly slipped on her day clothes, gathered her school supplies, and began to head downstairs. As always, her family was doing the same thing they did every morning. Wilbur and Tommy were nudging each other as they ate their breakfast, Techno mumbling at them to stop causing a ruckus so early in the morning. Phil was gathering items he needed to begin his workday, business suit already on as he slipped on his shoes, choosing to bypass Y/N when she stepped into the kitchen, never giving a form of acknowledgment to her. Disappointed, but not unexpected.
She sat at her usual spot at the table, next to Technoblade as she poured her cereal, her brothers never once greeting her either. “Love you, boys! I’ll be home by 6!” Phil called from the front door, her brothers shouting a goodbye as their dad left, Y/N never looking from her bowl to say goodbye. No one pointed it out, she wasn’t going to say anything.
School came and went as it normally did, her brothers saying goodbye to each other (never to Y/N) as they separated in the foyer, each heading to their respective areas. Documenting the encounters in her notebook, Y/N continued on with her day, her shoulders getting more and more sagged as the day went by. Even once they got home, Wilbur invited Techno and Tommy to play Minecraft with him on their own survival world, something Y/N was never invited to because she didn’t have her own computer or laptop, but rather a school lent one.
Dinner started to prove her hypothesis wrong. Phil had finished cooking Sweedish Meatballs and had called for everyone to come downstairs. The smell was alluring to the girl, but she stayed strong, sitting stiffly at her desk. After five minutes of her not coming down, the smell getting more and more appealing, she had expected someone to come and knock at her door, something she had done several times to her brothers, but no knock came. Chatter floated up the stairs, laughter ringing through the house as she focused on homework, and killing off any hunger with a bag of chips.
Dinner had passed, as well as dessert, with no check-in occurring. No concerned voices trying to coax her out of her room, no light scratching at the door, nothing. Hours passed, and she heard the lumbering footsteps of Phil and the rest climbing the stairs, each slinking into their own rooms, bidding each other goodnight. Y/N waited on bated breath minutes after she heard Phil’s door close. She slowly creaked open her door and began to shuffle towards the stairs. Phil had always done something relatively nice for whoever missed dinner, whether it was because they had a meeting, or didn’t have the energy to come downstairs. He would always leave a plate of whatever was for dinner in the microwave, covered in tinfoil to conserve any leftover heat. While this was Y/N’s first time skipping dinner, she was silently looking forward to the meal her father definitely saved for her in the microwave.
Looking inside of it, however, she was confused and slightly distraught. Instead of a warm plate, holding the contents of a hearty meal, laid nothing, the microwave cold from disuse. She looked in the fridge as well, seeing no container containing that night’s dinner. Once again, they had forgotten about her, despite never appearing at the table. Closing the fridge, she shielded herself in darkness, and solemnly headed upstairs, treading carefully lest she let everyone know of her presence. She went to bed hungry that night.
Tuesday wasn’t any better. Nor was Wednesday, or Thursday. By the time Thursday rolled around, Y/N found her seat at the kitchen table occupied with Phil’s workbag, a new area for his bag in the morning. That night, she didn’t let herself cry, instead choosing to work on her English essay that was due in the morning. Friday had proved to be the only day with a slight anomaly, one that had only debunked her entire hypothesis.
That particular Friday night was family night, something Phil had always corralled everyone into doing on the first Friday of the month, whether that be board games, arts and crafts, or going out to do an activity. Tonight was the latter, everyone getting ready for a game of glow-in-the-dark mini-golf. Y/N was perched on her bed, revising lines for her poetry competition when someone knocked at her door. This was it, this was the moment she had been waiting for. Phil was going to walk in, and tentatively sit down on her bed, and have a heart to heart with her. She would explain that she felt depressed throughout the week, Phil would praise her for being so brave, and he would personally bring Y/N out of her room, and into the warm embrace of her family. Everything would be perfect. She called at him to come in, face only slightly deflating when, instead of her father’s worried gaze, met two sky blue eyes that belonged to Tommy.
“Hey, have you seen my jumper? I can’t find it.” He asked, eyes scanning the room.
Just smile at him, Y/N.
“Yeah, it’s under Techno’s in the mudroom I think.” Her voice cracked, Tommy, giving a cheerful smile at her answer. “Thank you!” He called, slamming her door as he bounded down the stairs. That was it? Running to her window, she saw Phil and the boys gathering at the family station wagon, piling comfortably inside before driving off into the night. One minute passed. Another ticked by. Y/N stood at the window, gripping the lilac curtains as she slowly kneeled to the ground. Taking a deep breath in, she screamed, letting sobs expel from her throat as she pressed her head to the wall. She loudly wailed, mourning her own discovery as she realized a very important lesson; she wasn’t blissfully ignorant anymore. She had created this fantasy of familial bonds and memories, always gently reminding them to include her in family activities. The reality was harsher, forcing her to her knees. Her hypothesis was wrong.
She stayed crying until the hum of the garage forced her quiet, pressing her ear to the wooden floor as she heard everyone loudly talking to each other, all smiles and giggles from their fun night at the mini-golf place. Every pair of footsteps that passed her room sprouted a false sense of hope, and Y/N silently reached out to the door. She prayed for anyone, anyone, would open her door and comfort her, each passing second crushing her spirit. Midnight had already come when Y/N fell asleep against the floor, waking up to the sun shining directly at her, and in the same position as before, a new knot in her neck from the position she was in.
Conclusion: My hypothesis was wrong, they don’t really express much love towards me, or even attention, only giving me attention when they need something.
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Her 17th birthday had come and gone, just like the changing leaves, and not a single birthday wish or present from Phil or the boys. It had landed on the first Friday of the month, Phil chose to drag the boys out to bowling. As soon as he left, Y/N thumped down the stairs, and read the note she was familiar with seeing on these days.
The boys and I went out bowling, we’ll be back in a couple of hours. -Dad.
Not even on her birthday did they not deem it necessary to actually spend time with her. Y/N took this as their final goodbye to her.
On her 17th birthday, Y/N wrote a 5-page letter to her father, sealing it in an envelope and placing it on her bare mattress. Her bags had all her bare necessities, ranging from the food she bought with money from her 2-year job, to important documents she could never get far without. She packed everything in the second-hand truck she had bought 3 months ago, taking one last look at the house, before driving off into the night. Her withdrawal papers were already submitted with the school, her dad’s spot on signature giving her full permission to drop out. It was spot-on as far as the school was concerned, Y/N being forced to sign everything herself once she reached the 7th grade. She could get her GED somewhere else, long after she had settled elsewhere and left town.
No one noticed her truck was gone until the next morning, Phil calling everyone down for breakfast. He had called for Y/N, noting her absence of footsteps coming down the stairs. She had never been one to skip breakfast. Climbing up the stairs, he knocked at her bedroom door, only to be met with a dull silence. Creaking open the old door, he immediately took note of the bareness of the bedroom, wardrobe opened to show nothing in it, the desk empty except for a silver medal, and bed completely stripped, save for an envelope addressed to him.
“Oh.” That was all he said, staring at the peeling pink walls one last time before gently closing the door, the letter remaining sealed on the bed. By night time, the extra chair was gone from the table, and everyone was now more spread out. Not much was mentioned about the absent chair at the table, nor about the absent person from the house.
The letter became forgotten. The medal collected dust on the desk. The family pictures never had her in them.