The applause she could never hear

Hanna sat in a chair inside a quiet room. A policeman stood in the corner, his presence adding to the tension in the air. The chair opposite her remained empty, waiting for its occupant.

Lost in thought, Hanna stared blankly at the walls, barely noticing the passage of time.

The silence was broken when a young gentleman entered the room. Wearing a gentle smile, he took a seat in the chair across from her and looked at her calmly.

He started talking.

"Hi, Hanna. How are you feeling now? Are you sad, happy, or neutral?"

Hanna looked at him for a moment before answering. A faint smile appeared on her face, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"I don't know," she said softly. "I think I've spent so much time pretending to be happy that I can no longer tell what I really feel."

The young gentleman nodded, listening carefully.

"That's okay," he replied. "You don't have to have an answer right now. Sometimes understanding how we feel takes time."

For the first time since entering the room, Hanna looked away from the walls and met his eyes. There was something comforting about the way he spoke—not with judgment, but with patience.

"I don't know,"  she replied.

She said "i had asked myself that question many times, yet I never found an answer. I often tell myself, "I'm really happy," but that may not be true.

Deep down, I feel sad and depressed, but I cannot carry that burden all the time. So, I pretend to be happy for the sake of others, so that I don't become a gloomy presence among my friends and colleagues. Hanna replied

"I was born into a middle-class family in Kerala, India. I grew up watching my mother and father work hard every day. My father worked in a factory, and my mother worked as a clerk in an office. Most of the time, I was left alone with my sister.

She was cheerful, friendly, and sociable. Everyone liked her. On the other hand, I was a gloomy child and not very likable. People in the neighborhood always paid attention to the little girls who were cheerful and outgoing. As a result, I often felt like the less favored child in the family.

Eventually, I stopped interacting with the neighbors. Their behavior made me develop a negative attitude. I was deeply hurt because no one seemed to notice me.

My parents never realized how broken I felt. I can't blame them; they were busy working hard to provide for us. They left early for work and returned home late, so I kept everything to myself and never complained."

"I don't know when I turned into a monster like this because of my childhood."

The policeman listened carefully. As she continued speaking, he raised his hand and gently stopped her.

"Wait," he said. "I know where this is going. All the psycho killers I've met have told the same story about their childhoods—that they were not loved, not understood, or treated unfairly."

The psychologist immediately stopped him from saying more and told him to remain silent until Hanna had finished her story.

The room fell quiet once again as everyone turned their attention back to Hanna.

Hanna looked into the psychologist's eyes and nodded for him to continue.

When my sister turned fourteen, she started to look especially beautiful. After she got her braces off, she walked to school with confidence. The boys in the neighborhood followed her around, always trying to get her attention.

What about me?

I was only the ugly sister—the average girl who always stood in Lily's shadow. Lily was the gorgeous girl everyone adored, while I was the one nobody noticed.

I often stared at my face in the mirror and wondered what was wrong with me.

"Maybe if I looked better, people would notice me."

I tried everything. I wore glasses, then contact lenses. I changed my hairstyle. I changed my clothes. But nothing worked.

Even after all that, my parents still seemed to love her more than me.

At least, that's how it felt.

One day, I overheard a conversation between my parents.

They were talking about how they had dreamed of having only one child so they could give that child the best life possible. They said it was already difficult to provide for one child with the money they earned.

Then I happened.

An accident.

The child they never wanted.

Hanna paused and looked at the police officer.

"That's a cliché story for a killer, isn't it?" she asked.

"I suppose so," he replied with a slight nod.

She turned back to the psychologist and continued.

After overhearing my parents, I stormed into the hall and confronted them.

"If I was just an accident, why did you have me?" I shouted. "Why don't you love me the way you love Lily?"

My father looked at me for a moment before answering.

"It's because we had already gone through one abortion," he said quietly. "The doctor told us it wouldn't be good for your mother's health to go through another one."

I stood there in shock.

My mind filled with confusion and thoughts I couldn't control.

If they had the option, they would have done it.

That was all I could think about.

And for the first time in my life, I wished they had.

Because I hated this life.

For the first time, a truly cruel thought entered my mind.

If Lily no longer existed, I would finally be enough.

I would be the only child they had left to love.

The realization settled over me like a warm blanket.

And I smiled.

Not because I was happy.

But because, for the first time, I had a solution.

All I needed now was a plan.