1 Sela
SELAโS NARRATION๏ปฟ
โMy name is Sela. Iโm eleven, and this is my family. My oldest sister, Lianna, is seventeen years old. My brother, Leo, is fifteen, and Paula is one year younger than I am.
I was only five when Lianna first said it. She stood in the doorway with her books and sneered, โYouโre adopted. You donโt even deserve to be loved.โ The words poked me all over. My stomach twisted. My hands balled up, and it felt like I couldnโt swallow.
I didnโt know what โadoptedโ meant then, so I ran to my mother and asked. She smoothed my hair and told me not to worry. But Lianna kept saying it, tossing the word around like dirt, enjoying how it made me flinch.
Since I was little, whenever my mother clapped for me or hugged me, Lianna and Leo would make faces like something smelled rotten. If I tried to sit beside them, they shoved me off the couch or walked away without a glance. I asked my mother why, and she only told me to ignore them.
Still, I followed them everywhere, trying to be a good little sister. But they always turned their backs.
Now Iโm eleven, and I know what the word means. Iโm starting to hear it from Leo, too. He has a habit of flicking his hair back before he says it, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Dad would hear them whisper โadopteeโ across the table, but he would just clear his throat and keep eating. I thought maybe that was how families were.
One afternoon, my mother heard them. Her face turned red, and she slammed her chopsticks so hard the bowls rattled. Lianna and Leo froze. Then, when Mom looked away, they glared at me as if I were the one in trouble.
My mother is the only one who pulls me into her arms and tells me Iโm precious. My father walks past me in the hall as if Iโm part of the wall. At dinner, his eyes slide over me like Iโm not even there.
Sometimes, Lianna and Leo shove me against the banister when I try to follow them upstairs and laugh like Iโm invisible. If Mom scolds them, they wait until she leaves. Then they lean close and whisper, sharp and low, โCrybaby. Adoptee. Donโt you tell her.โ
Paula is nice. Sheโs little, and sometimes she squeezes my hand when no oneโs looking. One time, she even nudged me toward the table and whispered, โDonโt worry. Iโve got you.โ That tiny act makes me step a little taller, like someone is really on my side.
Sometimes I wish they would just talk to me and tell me why.
Why do they treat me like this? Did I do something wrong? Orโฆ am I just dirty?โ
