Chapter 3

The mother pulled herself out of her grief.

"What is it?"

The father's face had gone grim.

"The preschool teacher called. Said Sophie was distracted in class today, and after school she left on her own."

The mother's face darkened at once.

"That little brat. I scold her once yesterday and now she's throwing attitude, running off by herself!"

The father frowned faintly.

"Maybe she just went to play with a friend after class. That's how kids are. She'll probably come home on her own in a bit."

At the word friend, the mother's expression only soured further.

"Aren't we carefree. And what about Nina? Her whole life spent in a hospital, swallowing pills and getting shots. She never got to have friends."

"When that girl gets back, see if I don't give her a hiding she won't forget!"

Half an hour later, the father set the cake he'd bought on the table.

The minutes crawled by, and the mother slammed her chopsticks down.

"What is wrong with Sophie? Does she even remember she has a family!"

"I'd love to know whose house she's shamelessly playing at until this hour!"

She pulled out her phone, and just as she was about to dial, her hand froze.

I understood then, the same as she did.

The mother had never once taken me to preschool. How would she know who my friends were?

"You get in touch with the preschool teacher. Find out where Sophie went!"

She set the phone down, her voice cold.

The father was about to make the call when several work calls broke into his plans.

"Come out with me for a bit. Something urgent at the factory."

The two of them hurried off, forgetting even to shut the window.

A gust of wind blew my bedroom door shut.

When they came back and saw the closed door, they both assumed I'd come home.

"Sophie, come out and eat. Daddy bought you a new cake."

The father knocked on the door.

He waited a moment. Nothing stirred.

The mother stood up, her face set, and pounded hard on the door.

"Sophie, do you hear me!"

The room stayed silent. No answer at all.

Angrier now, she kicked the door.

"Am I talking to myself, Sophie!"

The father quickly stopped her.

"That's enough. Sophie's still just a child. Don't push her. When she's ready, she'll come out and eat."

He paused, then couldn't help asking.

"You know Sophie had no say in when she was born. So why do you still hate her this much?"

The mother went still, her figure stiffening.

Without meaning to, I clenched my fists, my breath coming a little faster.

From the moment I was born, it was as if the shadow of that question had covered me completely.

She bit her lip, tears shining in her eyes.

"Because of those eyes of hers. They look too much like Nina's."

"Every time I see her, it's like I'm seeing Nina. But Nina's already dead. Why is she still alive? I can't accept it!"

My breath caught. I never imagined the answer would be that.

The old me could never make sense of the reason, and I racked my mind trying to make her like me even a little.

Not much. Just a little would have been enough.

But it turned out that from beginning to end, my very existence had been the wrong thing.

My eyes stung unbearably in that moment.

In the frozen silence, the next-door neighbor Lisa Dickerson passed by and poked her head in with a greeting.

"Oh, you're both home. Say, did you hear? A little girl got hit by a car and killed at the Sycamore Street intersection up ahead."