Page 4 of Piston

If I lose the scholarship, then I’m screwed, especially when I know, without a doubt, my father won’t pay for it; his wife won’t allow him.

You see, she hates me, always has—heck, she even forced my father to put me in daycare from the moment I was dropped off on their doorstep, something she likes to gloat about. You know, a girl’s father always wants to please his younger wife, ignoring the child his mistress abandoned on his doorstep.

Yeah, shocking, right?

My birth mother, Billy Hails, didn’t want kids. She and Dad had a one-night stand before he met step-monster a few months later. Billy decided, instead of letting him know he had a kid, to place said kid—me—in a bassinet with a note and my birth certificate, blank where her name was supposed to be, on his doorstep.

Classic abandonment.

Christy and Dad had just gotten married and were about to go on their honeymoon, or so the step-monster moaned continuously growing up, blaming me for ruining her happy life.

She put me down over and over. If I did well in school, she’d find a fault elsewhere and ensure my father agreed with her and my accomplishment would be instantly forgotten and normally, it’s because I apparently hit her, screamed at her, you know the usual crap.

He allowed her to punish me how she saw fit. A smack to the face, starvation, heck even locking me in the storage cupboard for a few hours – though, as soon as she had my little brother Cooper three years ago, I basically stopped existing in my father’s eyes, not that I did much beforehand.

Heck, I didn’t even say bye to him when I packed and left for college; the scholarship gave me a dorm room, which I’m grateful for, especially when Christy made it clear that I wasn’t welcome to stay after graduating high school.

I haven’t even had a phone call from him, so I guess he doesn’t care.

I’m the unwanted daughter his wife hates, and no, I’m not being dramatic.

Shaking my head, I grab my shower stuff and head into my tiny ensuite, looking forward to finding a small apartment for next year as the last time I walked into my father’s two bedroom bungalow comes to mind.

“Dad?” I say loudly, and I walk into the house, the walls and furniture blinding me.

Damn, I really wish he hadn’t allowed Christy to decorate the place in whites and blacks.

When nothing but silence greets me, I sigh. “Awesome. Your daughter is going off to college, but let’s not be home to say ‘bye and drive safe.’”

Hurt fills me, but I ignore it and head to the room that’s no longer mine.

As soon as Cooper was born, my father allowed his wife to decorate three-quarters of it for him, leaving only a small space for my bed and a dresser dad bought secondhand, giving my small walk-in closet to my brother.

They act like I’m a burden, like being born was all my fault.

I didn’t ask for my birth mother to drop me off with him, now did I? I think foster care would have been better than this life of being physically and emotionally abused.

Shaking my head, I go into what’s now Cooper’s room, grabbing the three bags I had no room for in my 1999 Ford Explorer I spent two years saving for while working at the local diner; my father refused to help buy it.

Heck, I even had to buy my own cell phone.

I look around the room and see my bed has already been dismantled, and Cooper’s toys overflowing the space.

I scoff silently.

Why did my dad take me in?

Why didn’t he sue Billy and leave me with Child Protective Services?

My dad doesn’t want me, his wife certainly doesn’t, and my birth mom is living the dream with her rich husband and three kids.

I found her last year and confronted her. She lives in New Jersey, not even two hours away, and she told me I wasn’t welcome, that her husband didn’t know about me, and that I needed to live my life.

Safe to say, I just walked away without a fight.

You can’t force someone to want you, can you?

My focus now is New York State College and my boyfriend Chris, the only person, other than Honey, who’s been there for me when my so-called family hasn’t, well kind of anyway.

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