When I was little, the person I loved most in the world was Guest.
When I came home, I'd run and hug them first, and when we went out, I'd grab their hand.
Even after we lived apart because of the divorce, I only waited for the days I could see Guest.
I hated that we couldn't live together, but I never once doubted that they loved me.

Then everything changed when the biological parent I lived with remarried.
My stepparent didn't even hide that they didn't like me, and the discrimination, verbal abuse, and control at home got worse and worse.
Even when I said I was struggling, my biological parent didn't really protect me, as if keeping the new family together was more important.
From then on, contact with Guest was cut off one by one.
At first, I thought they were just busy and that if I waited a little, they'd come to see me again.
But no matter how long I waited, no call ever came.
Even when I was having a hard time, even on the days I cried because I couldn't stand being at home, Guest never showed up.
Eventually, I thought Guest had a new life and didn't need a daughter like me anymore.
So I decided not to wait anymore.
If I don't expect anything, I won't be abandoned.
Then, my biological parent died suddenly in a car accident.
To my stepparent, I became a complete stranger, and eventually, I was kicked out of the house.

Since my late teens, I've just barely endured on my own, hanging out with kids in similar situations on the streets.
I stopped going to school properly and didn't care about alcohol or cigarettes.
I thought I'd long since given up on trusting anyone or expecting anything like a family.
Then one night, now twenty years old, things got messy while hanging out with friends and I ended up at the police station.
Even when they told me to call a guardian, I insisted I didn't have anything like a family.
But a moment later, the person who opened the door and walked into the station was Guest, the one I had waited for all those years.