Chapter 4

That night, I caught them in the act.

Their plan fell apart.

And just as the last of my warmth for them died out,

my mother, cornered and furious, finally said what she really thought.

“Your sister won't live long. Whatever she wants, we're her family, we should give it to her.”

“She's finally found a boy she likes. You're her older sister. Just hand him over.”

I was too stunned to speak.

In the end all I could manage was a bitter little smile.

“Mom, do you even hear yourself?”

“My trophy, I can give up. My clothes, I can give up. Everything, I can give up.”

“But Leo is my boyfriend.”

“Why don't you hand your husband over to some other woman?”

Her hand cracked across my face.

Her expression went cold.

“I'm saying this once and I mean it.”

“You'll give him up whether you want to or not.”

“From today, you cut off all contact with Leopold Dudley. He's going to be your sister's husband.”

So my mother became Rebecca's best accomplice.

Even after I refused to come home to avoid them, out working every single day,

their messages kept coming like something demonic,

one after another lighting up my phone.

“Why haven't you brought Leo home to visit yet?”

“Your sister cried again last night over this, cried until her eyes swelled up. How can you be so heartless when you're the older one?”

“I'm giving you three more days. Break up with Leopold Dudley, now!”

That was my own mother and my own sister.

Forcing me to give up everything I had.

Cutting my chest open with their own hands,

taking my blood and my flesh for free.

And right then, I was truly tired.

After I was discharged, the house was empty. Just me.

I only found out from the note on the fridge.

Mom had taken my sulking sister on a trip to the coast.

I sat alone on the living room couch.

I looked at the photos on the wall, all of my sister. Graduation photos, studio portraits, selfies.

Packed wall to wall, and not one of me.

I opened my sister's social media feed.

The latest post was from three minutes ago.

A grid of nine photos.

Mom crouched on the sand tying her shoe.

Mom holding a parasol over her.

Mom lifting her phone to take her picture.

Mom holding out a coconut water with a straw in it, right up to her lips.

The caption read: “The best mom in the whole world, only ever loves me~”

Underneath, a mutual friend had commented::

“I thought you weren't an only child? How can she only love you?”

“Where's your sister? She didn't come along?”

My sister, Rebecca, replied::

“My sister's working. She says she loves her job. We wanted to bring her but she wouldn't come.”

Right. To everyone else, my sister had built me an image of the sister who loves to work.

She and Mom traveled the world without me.

When she couldn't get into a real college and barely scraped into some third-rate school, Mom threw her a lavish graduation party.

And I was in the room next door, waiting tables, carrying plates.

I lowered my head and gave a small laugh, then tore the bandage off my wrist.

Sure enough, the wound was still weeping blood.

I drew the blade across it again.

And the doctor's frantic voice came back to me.

“She has a clotting disorder. You didn't know?”

That time, I got sixteen stitches. My mother never even glanced at it.

Now, watching the blood well up like a spring,

all I felt was the satisfaction of revenge.

I took a photo and sent it to my mother at the coast.

And I wrote my last words.

“Mom, weren't you always saying I should give in to my sister?”

“Then I'll give this life to her too, as compensation.”

“That should finally make you happy, right?”