Chapter 3

When the last person set down their bowl, I stood up, took the hint, and cleared the table.

In the kitchen, thick grease and dish soap swirled down the drain together.

Outside, Uncle Gerald was talking.

"There's a food festival in the next city over tomorrow. Work gave me five tickets."

"We don't have that many people in our family, so they'll be perfect for you all."

My mother took them and thanked him.

"Perfect timing. It's been ages since the whole family went out together."

Something twisted in me. The whole family.

The last time we all went out together was for my brother Phineas's college graduation ceremony.

But my graduation ceremony, not one of them came.

My little cousin stared, hungry for it, practically drooling.

"Dad, I want to go too."

Phineas pulled her onto his lap and ruffled her hair.

"Little glutton, then you'd better stick close to us tomorrow."

Then he turned and glanced at me.

"We just won't bring Susie. She's no use there anyway."

My grip slipped, and the bowl in my hands nearly hit the floor.

The next topic started up amid the laughing and joking.

No one objected.

It was all settled, smooth and natural.

The strange thing was, I wasn't even surprised.

After all, it had been like this for more than ten years.

Their early heartache had turned to numbness, and now this illness had become a flaw everyone knew me by.

The sky was barely light when the noise started outside.

"Mom, how do I look in this?"

"Phineas, let me borrow your baseball cap."

I curled up on the bed as cramps wrenched through my stomach in waves.

Cold sweat soaked the sheets under me over and over.

Shaking, I got out of bed.

I opened the door. They were already dressed and ready to go.

I clutched the hem of my mother's shirt like the last straw I had to hold on to.

"Can you take me to the hospital? My stomach hurts so much."

Everyone stopped moving.

I thought I'd get at least one word of concern.

But the first thing I heard was this.

"You're quite the little actress."

I froze for a second, and my grip loosened.

"What do you mean?"

Phineas let out a small scoff, his tone mocking.

"We just didn't take you to the food festival. Do you really have to make such a scene over it?"

"Getting up at the crack of dawn to paint your face all pale, playing sick here. Is it fun?"

The hem was yanked out of my palm without mercy.

My mother swung her bag onto her back and turned briskly away.

"We're both women. You think I don't know what's going on in that head of yours?"

Rosemary turned around, made a face, and grabbed my little cousin's hand to hurry after them.

Downstairs, my father's car had long been waiting, engine off.

Mom and Dad sat in front.

Phineas and Rosemary sat in back, shielding my little cousin between them.

One family, one car, packed just right.

The car pulled away fast, as if afraid of something dirty clinging to it, and soon all I could see were two taillights in the distance.

I wiped the sweat off my forehead, didn't bother to change, and took a cab to the hospital alone.

The moment I got out, I collapsed at the hospital door.

The driver got a terrible fright.

"Doctor, this person's unconscious!"

When I came to, I was already lying on an exam bed, a needle taped into the back of my hand.

The doctor handed me my chart.

"Acute gastroenteritis. The pain can be unbearable."

"And there's a hard mass in your stomach that's very difficult to digest. Left too long, it'll turn into acute bowel obstruction."

"You came alone? Where are your parents?"

I clenched my teeth and shook my head.

"I don't have parents."

From today on, I have no home, and no family.

He sighed and wrote me up a few more bottles of medicine.

"Take them on time. Don't treat your own body like it's nothing."

I nodded. It took more than ten minutes before the cramps finally eased enough to bear.

I opened my feed. Rosemary had posted something new.

A nine-square grid of food photos, with a group shot in the middle.

【A whole family, all together.】

Five people. Not me.

And suddenly I understood.

The Rosemary who used to hold my hand as a child, crying with guilt until she was blowing snot bubbles, had been gone for a long time.

And the place in this family that belonged to me had quietly been disappearing just as long.