Chapter 4

It was almost fully dark by the time I got back from the hospital.

The doctor had jabbed in the needle in a hurry, and the puncture mark on the back of my hand had gone a bruised purple.

I pushed the door open, and Rosemary came running over with a smile.

She grabbed my hand, pressing down right on the wound.

"Sis, where'd you go?"

"I brought you something to eat."

She held out a clear plastic bag.

Inside was half an order of fried tofu bites, one piece still marked with a row of teeth prints.

The rest was a few leftover chicken tenders mixed in with a handful of leftover grilled veggie skewers.

I walked past her without turning my head.

"Trash goes in the trash can. I'm not eating that."

A hand slapped the table. My father glared at me, his face cold.

"Is that any way to talk to your sister!"

I ignored him and went straight to my room.

The suitcase I'd brought back from school was still open on the floor.

I stuffed in my documents and the few old clothes left in the closet, and when I finally reached under the pillow for the envelope, my hand came up empty.

My heart skipped several beats.

I flipped the pillow over, then carefully checked the headboard and the gap along the wall.

Nothing.

The laughing and joking from the living room went on.

I stood there in the room, breaking into a cold sweat.

I dragged myself out to the living room like something half-dead.

"Which one of you took my money?"

Everyone looked up at me.

My voice wouldn't stop shaking.

"The envelope I put under my pillow, with ten thousand in it. It's gone."

"Whoever took it, give it back."

My mother took a sip of water, her expression easy.

"I took it."

"I saw you hide it under the pillow that day."

"We were short on household money last month, and everyone went out today, so I took yours to help cover it."

She said it openly, without a trace of guilt in her tone.

The household money was short because Rosemary had thrown a fit until she got a new camera.

The whole set had run over thirty thousand.

My eyes went red in an instant.

"On what grounds? That's my money!"

"Taking something without asking isn't borrowing, it's stealing!"

My father stood up, and this time his hand didn't come down on the table. It landed hard across my face.

The crack of the slap tangled with his cursing, a roar buzzing in my ears.

"What do you mean your money, that's this family's money!"

"We feed you, we clothe you, so what if we take a little of your money?"

My voice came out hoarse, thick with the sob in my throat.

"Throwing me the scraps you won't eat, is that what you call feeding me?"

Phineas stood up with a frown and moved to shield my mother.

"Don't let a little money ruin the feeling in this family."

I looked at him and said it one word at a time.

"That's not a little money. That's four years of treatment money I scraped together the hard way."

Other people spent their winter and summer breaks traveling or resting at home.

I made milk tea, on my feet for over ten hours a day.

I handed out flyers too, in ninety-degree heat, almost passing out from the heat inside a mascot costume.

My eyes moved over every single one of them standing there.

"The illness you wouldn't pay to treat, I'm saving up to treat myself."

Rosemary hid at the very back, craning her head to look at me.

Her eyes were full of thick disgust.

I looked at the gold bracelet swinging on her wrist and realized she would probably never understand why I'd suddenly lost my temper today.

My mother looked at me, her eyes reddening, two clean lines of tears running down.

She fell back onto the sofa, pounding her own chest with all her strength.

"How did I ever give birth to such an ungrateful, cold-hearted wretch."

Everyone crowded around to comfort her.

Pouring water, rubbing her back.

No one cared that I was falling apart.

I stood in the corner like a stranger who'd wandered in by accident.

I didn't argue anymore. I went back to my room, locked the door, and lay awake all night.

The weather was fine the day I left.

I'd rebooked the earliest flight, and I zipped the suitcase shut with a hard pull.

Before I walked out, I took off the key that belonged to me and set it down on the entryway table.

I left without a single extra word.

At the airport.

The plane tore off the runway, carrying me farther and farther from that so-called home.

At seven, my mother walked out of her room, yawning.

When she saw the state of the kitchen, her eyes went wide.