They say, "You grew up so fast," and I smile. Because it's easier than telling them I had no choice. I watch kids run to their parents when something goes wrong, and a quiet jealousy sinks in my chest. I wonder what it feels like to cry into your mother's arms, to say out loud what hurt you, and be held through it. I never had that. I learned to carry my sadness alone - locking myself in a room, crying without sound, teaching myself not to need comfort I wasn't given. I grew up without goodnight kisses, without hugs, without anyone knowing their child was lonely in the dark. People call it maturity. I call it learning how to survive without being seen.