Part 3Sisters of Scars

I lowered my head slightly, feeling the bandage around my neck. The cut wasn't deep; the blood had almost clotted by the time they bandaged it. Autumn still didn’t speak, closing her eyes, shutting us out. Dad, seeing her stubborn silence, stood up, his brows furrowed, ready to erupt again. Mom pulled him and me out of the room.

Outside, Mom gently pushed Dad. "Say less, she's hurting. Don't argue with her." Then she looked at me. "Skylar, does your neck still hurt? Don't blame your sister, going to an Ivy League was always her dream."

I stared at my shoes, then mumbled, "She cut me, I pushed her. We're even. I couldn't care less."

Mom patted my head, a relieved smile on her face. "That's my Skylar. Big-hearted, doesn't hold a grudge."

I remained silent, listening to the sounds from inside the room. Autumn shifted under the covers, turning away. Dad walked back in, placing a bowl of porridge on the bedside table. His voice was awkwardly strained. "Eat this after your shot. Your mom and I are going to pay Skylar’s tuition. Let’s just forget about this, okay?"

"You're old enough, be sensible. Stop making a fuss. You and Skylar are sisters. If you don't support each other, who will?"

Autumn stayed hidden under the duvet, silent and still. Dad picked up his car keys and left, Mom pulling me along. She paused at the door, speaking to the lump under the blankets. "Autumn, wait for us here. We’re just going to register Skylar for her classes."

In the car, Mom pulled out the thick envelope. "Skylar, you have to work hard for Professor Davies. Our entire savings, every last penny, is riding on you."

I clutched my backpack, a suffocating weight in my chest, and didn’t reply. Stepping out of the car, I looked up at the towering building. Professor Davies’ workshop was on the 33rd floor. I gripped my backpack strap, my voice barely a whisper. "Dad, Mom, maybe Autumn should go to college instead. I’m just not cut out for school."

Dad shot me a furious glare. "If you dare mess this up, I’ll break your legs."

Mom took my hand, pulling me into the elevator. "It's okay, Skylar. Just focus on your studies. Autumn’s smart; she’ll get into an Ivy League eventually."

When we returned to the hospital after registering, the nurse informed us Autumn had checked herself out. She was gone.

By the time we got home, she had taken her ID and university acceptance letter, packed a few clothes, and left. Dad swore, "Neither of you is any help," grabbed his car keys, and rushed out to search. Mom, terrified, followed him.

I tossed my backpack onto the sofa, my gaze falling on Autumn's open bedroom door. I sat there, the image of her lying on my floor, blood pooling behind her head, replaying in my mind. Whatever. I’d always wished I didn’t have a sister. Now she was gone; I should be happy. Good riddance.

Autumn vanished. Mom and Dad searched everywhere she might possibly go, but found nothing. After twenty-four hours, they filed a missing person’s report. Leaving the police station, Mom’s hands were still trembling. "Where could Autumn have gone? Why is she being so difficult? This is too much."

I supported her, saying nothing, as the three of us silently returned home. Hours later, the police called. They had contacted Autumn.