'Dear Diary,

One month. Thirty days. One-twelfth of a year. That's how long it's been since Dad gave you to me. It's also how long it's been since I've seen him.

I wonder where he is. I wonder if you know where he is. If you do, then do you also know why he left? What did I do? Why wasn't I enough?

Mom looks tired all the time now. She tries to play it off so I don't notice, but she's barely keeping it together. I'm afraid she's gonna crack soon. Sometimes I feel like I can already see the lines forming on her face. I don't want to see her break. I don't know how to help her.

The last time I heard Dad's voice, he and Mom were screaming at each other. It felt like my ears were bleeding. I think I might have been crying too. But Dad said crying was for cowards. That you're weak if you cry. I guess I couldn't help it. It was so loud.

I'm a coward.

Maybe that's why Dad left.

It's been a month since I turned the big double-digits. It's been a month since my birthday.

He hasn't come to see me since. Is he dead? Did Dad die? I don't want him to die. But I hate him.

Does that make me a monster?'