Today, I found out I have a father—just like everyone else.
But I think he's useless.
I mean, what kind of father leaves his child with a mentally unstable woman for seventeen years, and never once checks in?
Oh, sorry. I forgot to introduce myself.
I'm Shady. Or, well… Sherry.
I'm seventeen.
I study from home. I have no friends. I live alone with my mother, who is completely obsessed with me being her "little girl."
And this obsession? It started the day my father left.
According to her, he's a cold-hearted man who only ever wanted a son to carry the family name.
He told her that if she gave birth to a girl, he'd leave.
And he did.
He didn't even look at me when I was born. Just left. Just like that.
So, my mother decided—if he didn't want a girl, then she'd give him the perfect one.
And that became her mission.
For seventeen years, she raised me as her daughter. She ignored what was between my legs. She erased Shady and gave life to Sherry.
Why didn't I fight it?
Why did I stay quiet?
Because I was just a child.
A child raised as a girl from the start.
And slowly, Sherry became stronger than the little boy who never had a guide, never had a voice, never had a chance.
With my mother, I'm Sherry: cheerful, playful, full of life. I love sweets. I adore pink. I love my long brown hair and the way she braids it every night. I love the kitchen.
But Shady?
Shady doesn't exist to the world.
He's a shadow.
He's quiet, bitter, angry.
He hates everything.
He hates her.
He hates himself.
And if you think only my mother sees me as a girl—think again.
To the world, I am a girl.
In documents. On the street. In every passing glance.
A perfect daughter. The kind every family dreams of.
And yet... I still wonder:
Why hasn't Shady broken free?
Why hasn't he become a man?
Why does his voice still sound like a child's?
Why does his body still look soft and untouched?
Maybe he's afraid.
Maybe he gave up.
Maybe all the pills she made me take buried him deep inside me.
I don't know.
All I know is this—
Today, my mother told me she spoke to my father.
We're spending the summer with him and his family.
A rich, traditional family.
One that worships honor.
One that will not hesitate to spill blood over shame.
Mine.