We were never a real family: we were our father's creation, family in name but not in fact. In the end, after our brother Ben had died, there was really nothing connecting us. We were just strangers living under the same roof, destined to be alone. Starved for attention, damaged by our upbringing, and haunted by what might have been. We all wanted to be loved by a man incapable of giving love. Our father never missed an opportunity to remind me that I was ordinary, a hard thing for a little girl to hear. If you're raised to believe nothing about you is special, if the bench mark is extraordinary, what do you do if...you're not?