As I sat among my classmates, I kept scanning the crowd for my mom and stepdad, convinced they were somewhere in the sea of faces. “They’re probably running late,” I kept telling myself. When my name was called, I walked up to the stage, hoping to see their faces in the crowd, but they were nowhere to be found.

After the ceremony, I received a message from my mom: “Sorry, we couldn’t make it. Something came up with your stepsister. We’ll celebrate later. Congrats!” My stepsister Iris had thrown a tantrum over a broken nail. Anger, hurt, and disbelief swirled within me.

When I confronted my parents at home, they casually explained, “Your stepsister broke a nail. She was inconsolable.” I realized their priorities were skewed. In my anger, I packed my bags and left to stay with Justin’s family, who welcomed me warmly.

Years later, at my college graduation, I hoped my parents would redeem themselves. Once again, they were absent, missing the ceremony because Iris wanted a specific cake. Despite their repeated disappointments, I found support in Justin and his family, realizing that my parents’ actions didn’t define my worth.