Chapter 4

I lay shivering on the floor, weak and exhausted. James grabbed my hair, dragging me to the bathroom.

"Kylie, you listen to me. It's because of your greedy stomach, because you demanded that stupid birthday cake, that Kate is gone!"

"Don't play victim with me. Grab the mop and clean this up!"

James, I wasn't playing victim. I was hurting. My throat, my stomach, my entire heart... everything was in agonizing pain.

I wiped my tears and dragged the mop across the floor.

I forced myself to keep moving, watching James place the delicious food in Kate's untouched room, whispering to her empty bed:

"Kate, Kylie is such a disappointment. I should have never spoiled her. I used to yell at you for eating junk food, but look, I bought all your favorites today. If you want anything else, just tell me in my dreams. I miss you so much."

I couldn't bear to hear any more. I shrank back into the bathroom, trying to suppress my sobs.

The laughter of other families downstairs drifted through the window.

I pressed my face against the small window glass, trying to hear it clearly, pretending I was the girl in those stories, enjoying the perfect family warmth.

But I was the curse who killed Kate. No miracles would ever happen to me.

But James, tell me what I have to do for you to forgive me. I promise I'll be good...

The next morning, I woke up with a burning fever. At nine years old, I had no money and didn't know how to go to the hospital.

Terrified, I took some cash from James's nightstand and stumbled to the nearest pharmacy.

The pharmacist took one look at my flushed face and burning forehead and immediately carried me to the community clinic for an IV drip. They asked for my father's number.

As the needle pierced my skin, I foolishly thought, This time, James won't say I'm faking it, right?

Sure enough, James rushed in, clutching his briefcase.

Hope flared in my chest. I called out sweetly, "Dad!"

I secretly thought, If he just pat my head, or gently blow on the needle mark, I would forgive him for everything.

But what James gave me was a harsh slap across the face.

"You thief! You actually stole my money! You got scared of being caught, so you faked an illness, didn't you?"

"I'm a police officer, and I raised a thief!"

The IV needle was ripped out of my vein. I curled up, crying hysterically, begging him to believe me.

Hearing that James was a cop, the nurses and onlookers stopped defending me. Their sympathetic looks turned into disgust and disapproval.

Parents nearby whispered to their kids, telling them never to end up like me.

I didn't steal that money to be bad. I wasn't a thief. I was just a sick child who wanted to live.

But until the day I died, I never became a child worthy of love.

I watched James fill Kate’s empty bowl with food, and silently pack her closet with the latest fashion trends.

This haunting routine had repeated every single day for ten years.

I was lost in these painful memories when a knock on the front door snapped me back.

A voice from the past echoed through the hallway.

"James! Open up! I'm back, and I brought your grandbaby!"

I watched James, always so stoic and calm, trip over his own dining chair as he scrambled to his feet.

He stumbled to the door, his hand trembling on the doorknob for a long time before finally twisting it open.

The door swung wide, revealing the woman standing outside. It was Kate—the sister I supposedly "killed" ten years ago.