TOO LATE

Part 1: How its begun?

I don’t know exactly when my life stopped feeling like my own. Maybe it had always been that way, and I was too blind to see it. As a child, I believed that love was unconditional, that my family loved me because they were supposed to. I held onto that thought, even when the reality around me showed something else. It’s strange how you can convince yourself of a lie when you need it to survive.

Mom never really liked me, though. Looking back, I can’t remember a single moment where I felt like she was truly proud of me or happy to be my mother. She was always so cold, so distant, as if I was just a burden she had to endure. But with Hannah—my little sister—it was different. She adored Hannah. Everything Hannah did was perfect. Every mistake was forgiven, every misstep overlooked.

For years, I told myself it was because Hannah was younger, that maybe I was just too old for the same kind of affection. But deep down, I knew. I knew that it wasn’t about age or expectations. It was about me. I wasn’t what she wanted. I never had been.

Despite all of this, I tried. God, how I tried to win her love. I worked hard in school, I stayed out of trouble, I helped with chores. I kept hoping that maybe, one day, she’d see me the way she saw Hannah—perfect, lovable, worthy. But no matter what I did, it was never enough. Her eyes would pass over me like I was nothing more than an afterthought, a shadow that blended into the walls of our home.

And Hannah… she was the golden child. Perfect in every way. She had this light about her that people gravitated towards, and I used to admire it. I really did. I loved her because she was my sister, because family was supposed to love each other. But the older we got, the more I realized that Hannah didn’t feel the same way about me. To her, I was competition. I don’t even know why. I never wanted to outshine her; I never tried to take anything away from her. But in her eyes, everything I did was a threat.

She used to whisper things about me to her friends, nasty little rumors that would circulate around school. “She thinks she’s so pretty,” “She’s just trying to get attention,” “Look at her, always acting so fake.” Every word was like a knife, slowly carving away pieces of who I was. But I never said anything. I didn’t want to fight with her. I loved her. I just wanted us to be sisters.

Maybe that’s why I fell so hard for Ethan. Maybe I was just looking for someone—*anyone*—to love me the way I desperately wanted to be loved. He was the kind of guy who didn’t have to try to be popular. Everything came so easily to him. The girls loved him, the boys wanted to be him, and I was no different. From the first time I saw him, something inside me clicked. I thought he was the one. I thought if I could just make him see me, really *see* me, then everything would be okay. Then I would matter.

I started small. A note in his locker, a shy smile when we passed each other in the hallway, little things that I thought might catch his attention. And for a while, I convinced myself that it was working. He started noticing me, but not in the way I had hoped.

Ethan wasn’t interested in me. He was interested in *her*.

Of course he was. Why wouldn’t he be? Hannah was perfect. Everyone loved her. And just like everyone else, Ethan was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. But when he found out I liked him, he didn’t just ignore me. No, he turned it into a joke. I became a game to him—a way to pass the time, to entertain his friends.

“You really think someone like me would go for someone like you?” he’d say, laughing with his friends as I walked by. Each word chipped away at the fragile hope I had built up in my heart, but I smiled. I always smiled. I couldn’t let them see how much it hurt.

But the truth was, I couldn’t stop liking him. No matter how cruel he was, no matter how many times he mocked me, I couldn’t let go of the idea that one day he might change his mind. That one day, he’d see me for who I really was and realize he had been wrong all along. I tried harder, kept showing him how much I cared. I thought if I just put in enough effort, if I loved him enough, he’d come around. But the harder I tried, the more he seemed to hate me.

“You’re pathetic,” he said once. “Why don’t you get it? No one wants you.”

His words echoed in my mind, even when I was alone. I couldn’t shake them. But even then, I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. There was something in me that refused to let go, even when it was clear I was nothing more than a joke to him.

Then came the night that changed everything.

I remember walking home from school, my feet dragging as the weight of the day pressed down on me. Ethan had been particularly cruel that afternoon, making fun of the way I looked, the way I tried so hard to get his attention. My classmates laughed along, and I forced myself to laugh too, even though inside, I was falling apart. All I wanted to do was go home, crawl into bed, and disappear for a while. But as soon as I walked through the door, I knew something was wrong.

Mom was standing in the living room, her arms crossed, her face twisted in anger. “What’s this I hear about you sneaking around with boys?” she demanded, her voice sharp and accusing.

I blinked, confused. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Then Hannah stepped out from behind her, tears in her eyes. “Mom, I didn’t want to tell you, but… I saw her. She’s been sneaking out at night. With boys.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It wasn’t true. None of it was true. But the look on my mother’s face told me that it didn’t matter. She had already made up her mind.

“You filthy little slut,” she spat, reaching for the belt that hung by the door. “I didn’t raise you to be like this.”

I tried to protest, tried to explain, but the first blow landed before I could get the words out. The pain was instant, searing through my back like fire. I screamed, begging her to stop, but the hits kept coming. Over and over, harder and harder. I curled up on the floor, my hands covering my head, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t stop until my body was covered in bruises, my skin raw and bleeding.

When it was over, she threw the belt down and walked away without a word. Hannah stood there for a moment, watching me with a strange expression on her face—regret, maybe? Guilt? I couldn’t tell. But whatever it was, it wasn’t enough to make her speak up. She turned and followed our mother, leaving me there on the cold, hard floor.

I stayed there for what felt like hours, my body too broken to move, my mind too shattered to think. I couldn’t understand why this was happening. Why did they hate me so much? What had I done to deserve this?

The next morning, I woke up, every inch of my body screaming in pain. I was late for school, but I forced myself to go. I couldn’t give them another reason to hate me. When I finally got there, the teacher scolded me in front of the whole class, telling me I needed to “take responsibility” for my life, that I was old enough to know better.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell her everything, to make her understand how much I was hurting. But the words wouldn’t come. I just stood there, silent, as the rest of the class stared at me, some of them whispering, others laughing. I was a joke. Even my teachers saw me that way.

At lunch, Ethan found me again. He always did. He couldn’t resist the chance to tear me down a little more.

“You look like crap,” he said, leaning against the wall with that cocky grin on his face. “What, you couldn’t sleep last night? Too busy dreaming about me?”

I didn’t say anything. I just stared at him, the bruises on my body throbbing with every heartbeat.

His smile faltered. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

Still, I said nothing.

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—hesitation, maybe. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Look, I didn’t mean to hurt you, okay? It was just a joke.”

But it wasn’t a joke. It had never been a joke.

That day, something inside me died. The part of me that cared, that hoped, that loved—it was gone. I stopped feeling. The pain, the humiliation, the constant rejection—they all blurred together into a dull, numbing void. I was just going through the motions, breathing, walking, existing. But I wasn’t *alive* anymore. Not really.

I stopped reacting to everything. My mother’s screams, Hannah’s lies, Ethan’s insults—it all became background noise. Nothing mattered anymore. They couldn’t hurt me because there was nothing left to hurt.

Days turned into weeks, and they started to notice. Mom would yell at me,