08/07/2025
My name's Hannah. I'm the oldest of five. Dad wanted a son—but got me instead. Then came three more girls: Rachel, Lily, Ava. Dad wanted a son and never hid it. He told Mom right after I was born, apparently, in the hospital, "Don't get too attached. We'll try again."
Each time Mom had a new baby and it turned out to be another girl, he grew more bitter. And so he found a solution: out of sight, out of mind.
So, he shipped us all off to live with Grandma because we "didn't count." I was the first, a few months before my first birthday. Then Rachel, Lily, and Ava. He'd wait a few months, long enough to keep up appearances, then pack a bag and drop us off like forgotten donations at a thrift store.
When Mom finally gave him a boy, he was thrilled. They raised my brother like a golden child while we were forgotten.
Years later, Grandpa said he'd split his inheritance equally between all the grandkids. Suddenly Dad wanted us back—figured he'd cash in on our shares.
At home, my sisters and I were treated like servants. We did the dishes, laundry, babysitting—every chore was ours. Mom barely looked at us while Dad barked orders. Benjamin mimicked them both, calling us "useless girls" like it was a family joke.
Girls cried a lot. I held out for three weeks. Then I made a choice: I'd had enough. I was going to make my parents regret it and protect my sisters. The next morning, I made my move. ⬇️
Full in the first c0mment
