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My twentieth birthday party was halfway through, and the seats reserved for my parents remained empty. Just as I was about to call and ask, my phone lit up. It was a notification from the city's elite lifestyle channel. Delilah, the true daughter who had been recognized just a week ago, had merely fed some fish in the backyard. Yet, our parents had booked the prime time slot of the entire television station for an exclusive interview with her. It was titled, [The Goodman Family's Daughter Comes of Age.] In the photo, they were gathered around Delilah, their faces filled with pride and affection that nearly overflowed from the screen. In that instant, I felt that Delilah made my twenty years of effort to play the role of their perfect daughter seem like a complete joke. I turned off my phone and calmly cut into the birthday cake that no one shared with me. After the party ended, my phone showed dozens of missed calls from my dad, Ralph. There was also an apologetic voice message from my mom, Harley. "Maeve, Delilah just came back and needs our care. You should be generous; she didn't mean to steal your thunder. "Next year, we'll make it up to you with an even grander one, okay?" I looked at the letter of admission to the overseas university in my hand. There would be no next year. In just seven days, I could leave. They were the family bound by blood. That home no longer needed me.