Part 3A Heart Left Behind

Tears slipped down unnoticed, landing on my hand and jolting me back to reality.

My mom was still rattling off a list of my supposed crimes.

I wanted to speak, to tell her I wasn't going to change jobs anymore.

After all, I only had a few days left to live; there was no point now.

But a sudden onset of my symptoms cut off my explanation.

A throbbing pain erupted in the back of my head, and my chest grew tight, like a heavy stone was pressing down on it.

I gripped the table leg tightly to keep my balance.

It wasn't until the wave of pain passed that I noticed the anger on my mom's face had intensified.

She seemed to mistake my pain for defiance, her tone growing even harsher:

"You think you're all grown up now, so you dare give me an attitude?"

"You tell me clearly right now: are you going to take care of your sister or not?!"

"Enough!"

Chloe braced herself against the table and stood up, looking embarrassed:

"Stop it. I won't need her help anymore."

"If she wants to work, let her go. I..."

Before she could finish, she collapsed back into her chair, clutching her chest and gasping for air.

My mom shoved me aside and rushed to Chloe, rubbing her back to soothe her, while barking orders at my dad:

"Hurry! Go get Chloe's medicine!"

I crumpled to the floor, my vision going black in waves. I wanted to get up and help, but I couldn't move.

My dad was in such a rush to find the medicine he didn't even see me on the floor.

He didn't even notice when he stepped hard on my hand as he passed by.

At that moment, the agonizing headache consumed me; I couldn't even focus on my crushed hand.

Waves of sharp pain hit me, and I curled up on the floor, gritting my teeth.

My parents' gentle, concerned voices directed at my sister seemed to drift in from far away, blurry and indistinct.

After what felt like an eternity, the pain finally subsided. I held onto the table and shakily got to my feet.

Looking around the living room, I realized I was the only one left.

A warm, yellow light spilled from my sister's room, and through the crack in the door, I could vaguely see my mom tucking her in.

I lowered my head and stood there. Even though I was in my own home, I felt like I had nowhere to go.

It wasn't until Chloe fell asleep that my mom tiptoed out of the room.

Seeing me standing in the living room, her brow immediately furrowed. She walked over quickly and pinched the flesh on my arm hard:

"Your sister is sick, and you're just standing here like a log. Are your legs broken? Can you not move?"

"Keep it quiet tonight, and make sure you're taking good care of her!"

Ignoring the pain in my arm, I looked at her with a sliver of desperate hope:

"Mom, my head hurts so much..."

But before I could finish, she cut me off:

"Why don't you just die of the pain then?!"

"Faking sick every time I ask you to do something. Can you just act your age for once?!"

My world plunged into a sudden silence; an empty, desolate void filled my heart.

I could only see her mouth moving, but I couldn't hear her voice.

I nodded numbly until she stopped, looking satisfied.

After she walked away, I instinctively went to my sister's room.

I don't know how long I stood by her bed.

By the time Chloe's sarcastic voice broke the silence, my legs had gone completely numb.

"Mia, stop pretending. You wish I were dead so you'd never have to take care of me again, don't you?"

Her dark, brooding gaze pinned me to the spot.

When I was little, I thought my sister was the gentlest person in the world.

She would knit me stuffed bunnies, read me stories, and softly comfort me when I cried.

But I don't know when it started—that gentle sister disappeared.

Lost in thought, I didn't say anything, but she didn't need me to reply anyway:

"So what if you're healthy? I'm the daughter Mom and Dad love the most."

"In this house, you are the extra one!"

"Get out now. Just looking at you makes me sick."

My heart ached, but I didn't dare say anything, terrified of triggering another episode.

I went back to the tiny storage closet that served as my room, lay down on the bed, and stared at the ceiling with wide, tear-filled eyes.

It's okay, I told myself. She's sick. She needs their love more.

That's why Mom and Dad ignore me sometimes.

Once she has the surgery, everything will be fine.