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My dad, my mom, my brother, and even my boyfriend, all spent the day out having fun with my sister, Gloria Blanchard. The front-row seats I'd saved just for them stayed empty from the first note to the last. Seeing those vacant chairs made me feel utterly pathetic. After the show, my hands were shaking as I called each of them. One by one, the calls rang until they cut off. No one answered. And then, right on cue, Gloria posted a photo on her social media. [The happiest thing in life is having everyone I love right here with me.] Backstage, people came and went, sneaking glances at me, some with pity, some with scorn, some trying not to laugh. I had become the fool of the night. But this time, I didn't scream or cry. I just quietly finished drawing the last stroke of the twentieth tally mark. They had used up the hundred chances I'd given them every last one. There was no hesitation left in me, no affection, no regret. It wasn't until I silently boarded a plane to another country that they finally panicked, taking turns to call, to beg, to make things right. But it was too late. I no longer expected anything from them.