She walks the halls, not but a ghost within its walls. A spectre with a beating heart. She speaks, but no one listens. Those closest to her cut her off mid-speech. Whatever she has to say is of no importance. Their deeds and needs are what matters.
Other people come before her. Perfect strangers hold more precedence in her family’s lives. They rule against her. Take others’ sides. Her opinion does not matter. She is an invisible essence, a household item. Something unnoticed; not a person with thoughts, ideas, feelings or importance.
She fades deeper into the background of her own life, while those around her soar. Her successes go uncelebrated. Her wishes unfulfilled. Her needs barely met. Her affection often unreciprocated. Now and then, she is thrown a bone. A bribe to ensure her loyalty. A false sense of importance to quell her minor laments. Then the neglect falls…
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