My name is Daisy Monroe, and the first thing I learned to do well was disappear.
Not literally. I was there at every family dinner, every birthday, every holiday gathering with its stiff tablecloths and the particular brand of performative warmth my parents had perfected. I sat in my chair. I ate my food. I smiled when it was required and stayed quiet when it wasn’t. I just learned, early and thoroughly, to take up as little space as possible, to compress myself into the corners of rooms so that the air could circulate more freely around the people who needed it more.
That person, in our house, was always Lily.
