My dad hid my acceptance letter. He kept it hidden for seventeen years. Growing up, I tried so hard to be the good daughter. Even though I figured out pretty early on that he favored my brother, just because he was a boy. But when I finally saw that acceptance letter to the good high school, the one I earned, I just couldn't hold it together anymore. "Dad," I cried, "I'm your daughter. Don't I deserve even a tiny piece of a dream?" 1. My mom died when I was one year old. She bled out giving birth to my little brother, Mike. After Mom was gone, Dad raised me and Mike by himself. We lived out in the country, didn't have much money. The weird thing was, in our house, Mike and I were treated completely differently. From the time we were little, if there was anything good to eat or drink, Mike always got it first. I used to be jealous of him, but back then, I didn't understand about sexism, about him thinking boys were just better. When it was time for school, I went like normal, but after school, I never got a break. I had to do all the chores around the house, and during planting or harvest season, I had to find ways to help the neighbors, try to earn a little cash on the side. Any money I made, Dad took it right away. Said it was for school fees. But every single time I handed him money, Mike suddenly had cash for candy. He'd eat it right in front of me, just to rub it in. One time he let it slip – Dad was giving all the money I earned to Mike for pocket money. School didn't even charge extra fees back then; we even got subsidized lunches, didn't cost a dime. I asked Dad why he gave my money to Mike. He just said, "You're a girl. Isn't the money you earn supposed to go to your brother?" "Besides," he'd add, "I raised you all this time. Don't you owe me?" "Girls need to be obedient. Stop thinking about all this nonsense, or what'll happen when you get married and go live with your husband's family?" His words always shut down any complaints I had. Made me feel like maybe I was wrong for thinking about it. After that, Dad took every single cent I ever got my hands on. It went on like that until I finished middle school. When I graduated 8th grade, I wanted to keep studying, so I went into town to work over the summer. My grades had always been good; I was sure I could get into a decent high school. Near the end of the summer, I took the money I'd worked so hard for and went to find Dad. That's when he told me I hadn't gotten into high school at all. He said we didn't have the money to send both me and Mike to school anyway. "Better to use that money for your brother," he said. "Mike's starting high school soon, he needs it." Just like that, all the money I'd busted my butt for was gone, handed over. Back then, I was naive. I actually believed we were just that poor. Reality was about to slap me hard in the face. 2 Since I couldn't go to high school, I had to go find work. But with just an 8th-grade education, finding a decent job was impossible. I ended up washing dishes in town, making only a thousand bucks a month. Every payday, Dad would use the excuse that we were poor and Mike needed money for school, and he'd take most of my wages. Pretty soon, Mike finished middle school too. He was never a good student, and he completely bombed his final exams. Forget high school, he didn't even qualify for trade school. I remember thinking back then, if I couldn't go to high school, maybe I could go to trade school. But Dad shut that down immediately, saying it cost too much. When it came to Mike, though? Dad spent twenty thousand dollars a semester to buy him a spot in a private high school in the city. When I heard that, it broke my heart. I went to Dad and asked him why it was so unfair. He told me the money came from Grandma and Grandpa – left specifically for Mike. He also said, "What's the point of a girl getting so much education? Better you start working early." I knew Dad favored Mike, always had. But… I never thought he could dislike me that much. I was furious about how unfair he was, but I felt powerless to change anything. All I could think back then was how unlucky I was not to be born a boy. For a while, I was really mad at Dad. When I got paid, for the first time, I thought about not giving him the money. Big mistake. Dad absolutely blew up at me. He called me ungrateful, a snake in the grass. Said he raised us kids all by himself, practically breaking his back, and now that I was older and earning money, I wasn't even thinking about helping the family. I felt so wronged. I was making a thousand a month and giving him eight hundred! But still, because I didn't get into high school, it was "girls don't need that much schooling." Mike, who was a terrible student, got thousands spent on him for a private school spot. I asked Dad again, why the unfairness? He said, "Your brother's the one who's going to take care of me when I'm old. Shouldn't I treat him better? Who else am I going to count on, you?" "Besides," he went on, "look around this town. Isn't it the same in every family? Daughters help out at home until they get married, right?" "You need to understand, if your brother does well, your life will be better too. When he makes it big someday, he won't forget his big sister!" I didn't realize it then, but he was totally manipulating me, gaslighting me. Later, Mrs. Henderson from next door came over to talk to me. She'd always been pretty nice to me; when I was little and didn't have enough food, she'd often give me something to eat. Maybe because I grew up without a mom, I always remembered her kindness. So, when she told me not to fight with my dad, I actually listened. She helped smooth things over. I stopped arguing with Dad, but I did start giving him less money. Because I couldn't stand being around Dad and Mike, I moved away, out of state, to find work. Back then, I had no idea that my own father was the one who had actively ruined my future. I always thought, you know, even a wolf doesn't eat its own cubs. I couldn't imagine him being that cruel. But reality is harsh. 3 Those years working far from home, I worked like crazy. Day and night, often only getting five or six hours of sleep. Sometimes I didn't even have time to eat properly. Eventually, I developed stomach problems. Every time my stomach hurt, I’d just pop some pills. Partly because I was too busy with work, and partly because I didn't have money for doctors. So, I just toughed it out. Even though I wasn't making much, I still sent money home to Dad every month. Like Mrs. Henderson had said, Dad was getting older, couldn't earn much anymore. I didn't want my money going to Mike, but I felt I still had to support Dad. So, I wired him cash every month. After drifting around for so many years, sometimes I felt incredibly tired. During holidays, I'd think about going back home to see Dad. But he always told me, "You're already working so hard out there, it's tiring enough. Traveling back and forth, you won't rest well, won't eat well, and it's not safe. No need to come back." I believed him. I even started to think maybe Dad's attitude towards me had changed, that he was starting to care about me. Until I went to the hospital for a check-up. The doctor told me I had cancer. Late stage. In that moment, my world collapsed. I didn't want to die. I was still young. I wanted to live. I called Dad right away, told him I wanted to come home. He agreed immediately. I was actually happy then, convinced that Dad finally felt sorry for me after all these years working away from home. But when I got back, there were no welcoming smiles waiting for me. Just Mike. He rushed over and started digging through my bag. When he couldn't find any cash after searching, his face just fell. "You didn't bring any money? What did you come back for?" "Don't you know I'm getting married soon? We need money for everything!" Dad chimed in too, "What's wrong with you? You've been working out there for years, haven't you saved anything? If you didn't save any money, what's the point of coming back?" "It's hard enough to find a job these days. You come back empty-handed, expecting me to support you?" Hearing those words felt like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. I was chilled to the bone. "Dad, that's not it," I choked out. "I'm sick. I came back this time to rest and recover." "Recover? What's there to recover from with a little ache or pain? Just take some medicine, you'll be fine. But your brother's wedding, that's a big deal. Did you put your money in the bank? Hurry up and give the card to your brother." At that moment, I truly broke down. I sobbed, asking Dad, "Dad, I have cancer. Can you please help me? Can you save me?" "Cancer? How could you suddenly get cancer? Are you sure you got checked properly? Lots of quack doctors out there these days." "Besides," he continued, "you see the situation. Your brother's getting married soon. You'll have to figure something out yourself." This time, Dad didn't keep asking me for money, but I wasn't happy at all. Because I really didn't have any money left. I couldn't believe he didn't know how hard my life had been. All these years, I'd been trying to please him, doing everything he said, being the obedient daughter. And what was the result? I was riddled with illness, and all I got was "figure something out yourself." Dragging this sick body around, what could I possibly figure out? I stumbled out of the house, feeling completely lost. Outside, I ran into Mrs. Henderson again. Seeing me, she took me into her house. "Sarah, honey, don't be upset. You know how your dad is." "Actually," she said, lowering her voice, "he does care about you. When you're not here, he talks about you all the time." "He's just got a lot on his mind right now. Mike's fiancée's family is playing hardball, demanding ten thousand dollars or they'll call off the wedding. Your dad's really stuck." "You're capable, working out there. That's why he was hoping you could help figure something out." "Mrs. Henderson," I said, my voice trembling, "if I had money, I could try to help. But… do you know? I have cancer. I'm dying." "I just wanted to beg him to save me…" "But… he told me to figure it out myself…" Mrs. Henderson froze. "Oh, Sarah, honey, I'm so sorry. I had no idea it was like this." "Are you sure about the diagnosis? Maybe you should try another hospital? Maybe the doctor made a mistake?" "There are so many greedy clinics these days. You should really get checked out at a couple of major hospitals." As she spoke, Mrs. Henderson tried to press a few hundred dollars into my hand. "I don't have much myself, Sarah, but take this. Go get another check-up at a big hospital." I couldn't believe it. Mrs. Henderson, who wasn't even related to me, was showing me more kindness than my own father. But in the end, I didn't take her money. I decided to go back to the city, find some kind of work first, and then figure out the medical stuff. Before leaving, I went back home one last time to grab a few clothes. As I was rummaging through the closet, an envelope fell out. It was an acceptance letter from County Central High. The
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