Chapter 3

By the time I was seven, I already knew I was the reason Mom died.

So, I spent my life trying to make it up to Pierre.

I cleaned his room every day and saved my favorite snacks for him.

I saved all the allowance Grandfather gave me to buy Pierre birthday gifts.

On Pierre’s birthday, I bought him an expensive toy using the money I had saved all year.

He started laughing, but then he began to cry. It hurt to see him like that, so I hugged him tight:

"I’m sorry, Pierre. It’s all my fault. I promise I’ll be good to you from now on."

"Mom is dead! How can you ever pay that back?"

Pierre pushed me away violently. My arm hit the corner of the table, turning black and blue. Tears streamed down my face from the pain:

"I'll take care of you just like Mom did. Please don't hate me."

Pierre didn't say a word. He just went wild, smashing the toy I bought him against the wall:

"Stop talking to me! Get out! You don't deserve to be my sister!"

But later, I saw him treasure a cheap, random gift from our cousin, Helena, for years like it was gold.

Helena looked a lot like Mom in the old photos. Pierre smiled whenever he saw her.

That was when I realized Pierre didn't hate my gifts. He just hated me.