Leave Angry
She chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. The pen wouldn't move quickly enough, lagging across the paper dully.
They wouldn't understand her, of course; they never had. She existed in some sort of world beyond their understanding; beyond her mother's denial and his father's drinking, her brother's gross innocence and Stewie's meglomaniacal tendencies. Even the DOG forgot who she was on a daily basis.
She knew the truth behind that now. Once, she had thought her feelings silly, childish; every kid worried that they were adopted. That they were shorter than their mother or father, and didn't look like anyone else. For the longest time, she thought the odd one out was Chris. Meg always felt that that she looked somewhat like Peter. Never in her life did she fathom that she was someone else's daughter.
But she had rock-solid proof that he wasn't her father. Biologically and, on reflection, any other way.
She tried to judge her mother through her actions, but, helplessly, she couldn't find fault with her decision. Peter was not an easy man to live with. She'd even cheat on Luke Perry if he drank too much and spent his days lying on the couch. What she couldn't forgive was one more betrayal, one more hand on the top of her hand, pushing her under the waterline.
Enough was enough.
Her grip tightened on the certificate she'd gotten from town hall, the one Lois had thoughtlessly, blithely, told her to go down and get herself if she wanted a picture ID. This Stan probably wouldn't be hard to find; Newport wasn't too large of a town, after all. And if he didn't want to meet his biological daughter, well, she supposed, she could always get a job somewhere else in town...
She slammed her journal closed and shoved it into her pink suitcase, locking it. A smile twisted into a vicious parody of itself across her face. She didn't need anything but her clothing and the money she'd socked away over the past year. The suitcase was a light burden.
She left no note; her room sparkled in its cleanliness. It was as though they had imagined the daughter that had once lived within those walls.
Peter blamed the aliens. Her brothers hardly noticed the loss of her. Indeed, life in Quahog got on as though no one had ever left its balmy confines, when one of its citizens had left, and would never again return.
But Lois was devastated upon rising to a house less full, to a truth borne clear. She would never forgive herself for not listening to her daughter. The cross of knowledge had been transferred, and it was her turn to be ripped apart by the weight.