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  • Writer's pictureSophie

Day 446

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That preceding summer, my parents had brought home a pink bundle of joy, otherwise known as my little sister, Vivienne. She crawled and cried and she occasionally would smile up at me as if I had told her a funny joke, but then I was expected to share with her. Not only did she eventually have full access to all of my toys, my room, and my dog, but she also had her fair share of my parents' love and time. The time and love that once belonged to me. As a seven-year-old, I believed that I couldn’t have faced a greater tragedy or travesty. I also already had a little brother, Cole, who was relatively low maintenance, which further added to my confusion as to why my parents decided to have another child. All that I could think about was “Weren’t we enough?” and “Wasn’t I enough?”

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