The car rolled to a stop in front of my grandparents' house, its familiar silhouette framed against the amber glow of the setting sun. I stared at the worn wood of the porch steps, my fingers gripping the wheel tighter.
The house looked the same as ever, yet there was an invisible barrier between me and the door, built brick by brick with years of hurt and disappointment.
I killed the engine and stepped out, the crunch of gravel under my feet grounding me momentarily. My gaze drifted to the windows, lamplight spilling out like a warm invitation. I could almost hear my grandparents' voices inside, the clinking of dinner plates, the sound of giggles. But it felt distant, like it belonged to someone else's life.
I hesitated at the base of the steps, torn between walking inside and staying out here where the air was cooler and lighter. It wasn't fear holding me back—it was the weight of everything left unsaid, the fear of being invisible again amid their expectations and comparisons. What if walking through that door only reminded me why I'd wanted to leave in the first place?
Minutes passed, the night deepening. Finally, something inside me hardened. I wasn't going to let my doubts own me. I climbed the steps one by one, the sound of each footfall like a drumbeat pushing me forward.
The door creaks as I push it open. The room beyond was as familiar as ever—everything in its rightful place. But before I could step fully into the warmth of the house, I heard a voice behind me, sharp and urgent.
"Taryn!"
I froze, turning on instinct. It was Jia, her face flushed with worry, and beside her stood Devon, his hands jammed awkwardly into his pockets. Their presence caught me off guard—the last thing I'd expected was for them to come looking for me.
Jia stepped closer, her voice steady but tinged with concern. "Let's talk inside."
I saw something in her expression that felt unfamiliar: understanding.
Jia led the way into the house, her hand resting lightly on Devon's shoulder, guiding him inside. I followed at a distance, the soft creak of the door closing behind me sending a shiver through my spine. The faint scent of Grandma's cooking lingered in the air. Still, there was the weight of the tension of what was to come.
Jia turned to face me, her arms crossed, her expression a mix of worry and frustration. "Taryn, what's going on with you? You ran out of the house and went driving without a license in the middle of nowhere, and you only bother to let Baihe know, and now you're here acting like everything's fine."
I bristled at her tone, the sharp edge of her words cutting deep. "I handled it, didn't I? I don't need you checking up on me like I'm some kind of child."
Devon shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting between us. "Our Big sister Jia got worried, Sis Taryn. We all are. You've been distant—more than usual."
His voice was softer, gentler, but it didn't stop the rising tide of frustration within me. "Distant? You mean not living up to everyone's expectations, right? Not being Jia 2.0 or whatever version of perfection you all think I should be."
Jia's eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening. "That's not what this is about. Stop putting words in my mouth."
"It's exactly what this is about," I shot back, my voice rising. "Every dinner, every conversation—it's all about what I'm not. I'm sick of it."
The room fell silent, the weight of my words settling heavily between us. Jia opened her mouth to respond but seemed to think better of it. Devon glanced at her, his expression pleading, but she shook her head.
The sound of footsteps interrupted the tense silence as Grandma appeared in the doorway, her face lighting up when she saw me. "Taryn! Oh, it's good to see you, sweetheart. Come, sit down. We're just finishing up dinner."
I hesitated, the warmth in her voice pulling at my heartstrings. Jia looked at me, her expression softening slightly. "Grandma's been worried about you," she said quietly.
I followed them into the dining room, the familiar sight of plates piled high with food greeting me. Grandpa looked up from his chair, his face breaking into a smile. "I thought you would come back home late? And, of course, it is about time you joined us."
I sighed, my gaze fixed on the food. "I'm tired of feeling like I'm not enough."
My heart raced as I debated whether to speak. But something about the way everyone's eyes were on me—waiting, expectant—gave me the courage I needed. If I didn't say it now, I might never have the chance.
"I need to say something," I began, my voice trembling but steady enough to break the quiet.
"I've been feeling… like I don't belong. Like, no matter what I do, it's never enough. And it's been eating at me for a long time."
I looked up briefly to gauge their reactions. Jia's expression softened, and Devon tilted his head slightly as if trying to absorb every word. Grandma leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, while Grandpa stayed silent, his gaze steady and patient.
"For years," I continued, the weight of my emotions pushing the words forward, "I've felt like I'm always compared to Jia and Devon. Jia, the successful one who always gets everything right. Devon, the one everyone adored in handling responsibilities at such young age. And me? I'm just… there. Trying. And it feels like no one sees that."
Grandma opened her mouth to speak, but I held up a hand, cutting her off gently. "Please, let me finish. This isn't easy for me."
She nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line as she leaned back.
"I know I haven't been perfect," I admitted, my voice cracking slightly.
"I've made mistakes—big ones. But I've worked so hard to make something of myself, and it feels like every achievement is buried under everything I'm not. Every time I hear someone say, 'You could learn from Jia,' or compare responsibilities that Devon had done, it's like a knife to the heart. I know you don't mean to hurt me, but it does."