[Emma’s POV]The first good memory I have is of my father carrying me on his shoulders and running through a field while I tried to catch the birds.Just being there with him filled me with overwhelming happiness. He was the person I loved the most, the one I felt most connected to. He was like the sun in my life; he shone the brightest, painting my world with colours that brought me nothing but joy.Maybe that is why, when I lost him, the colour left with him. I could no longer see the brightness of my joyful world. It became gray and dull, a meaningless existence that brought me nothing but unhappiness. After my father’s death, I remember no moment that ever felt truly happy again.I was born the fifth child in my family. Before me, there were two older sisters and two older brothers. There was not a big of an age gap between us, and maybe that was why my mother never paid much attention to me. I never understood why. Shouldn't the youngest child usually need the most attention and care? If so, why was I so neglected by my mother? It was a question I was not able to answer for a long time.My brothers and sisters were different from me. I don't have the right words to describe it, but they just felt different. It was as if there was some kind of connection they shared that I lacked, something that stopped us from ever truly connecting with each other.Because of that, most of them didn't know much about me, nor did they care. I was just someone living in a house with a bunch of people who, I suspected, didn't really want me there.It was suffocating. At night, the feeling would take my breath away. I had trouble breathing and used to struggle a lot. Whenever I tried to ask my mother for help, she just told me it would pass and that I should be patient. After saying that, she would usually change her position and go back to sleep.Most of the time, I was left alone to struggle with the pain. (...)