The morning before my sister’s wedding, I woke up to find my hair gone. My mother had crept into my room at nigh…

I got the hand-me-downs and be grateful talks. Hannah got a graduation trip to Paris. I got told to work weekends to save for college, which I did.

I moved out at 19, worked two jobs, and still RSVP’d yes to the wedding because I thought maybe, just maybe, it could be one of those rare family moments where no one needed to compete. But instead, they drugged me with NyQuil in a cup of soothing tea, then cut my hair while I slept. My own parents.

My roommate Becca came over in a panic when I called her, voice trembling. She gasped when she saw me. They did this to you? On purpose? I nodded.

Becca didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she pulled out her phone. Okay, we’re not going to the wedding like this.

We’re going to do something better. I didn’t want revenge at first. I just wanted distance.

But when Becca helped me record a voice memo, something I never thought I’d release. It changed everything. It was a recording I’d made weeks ago, purely out of habit.

I used my phone to track little moments to tell my therapist. Mom saying I was a distraction when I posted a photo from a friend’s bridal shower. Dad telling me, pretty girls ruin weddings with jealousy.

At the time, I thought they were just rude jabs. But listening back with Becca, it became something darker, a pattern. And then Becca said, you know, there’s a way to make them listen….