They both blame her. Secretly hate her. Not a well-kept secret- she often feels the open animosity. The grudging way she’s being raised.
Nothing’s ever celebrated. Nothing’s ever fun. Three people, living in a house, going through the motions.
“Did they ever love each other?” She wonders. “Will they ever love me?”
She thinks they’re living for the day she turns 18. When they can officially shut down this staged play.
At least then, they can all be free.