Chapter 4

All Jessica's life, Mom had never spoken to her like this—had never even raised a hand to her.

"None of you love me anymore," Jessica cried, running upstairs.

Mom ignored her and turned to check my wound. "Elaine, does it hurt?"

I shook my head, looking down at the blood-stained sweater. "It's ruined."

"It's alright, sweetheart. I'll buy you another." Mom reassured me.

"But this one's special," I said. It was the first time I'd expressed a feeling on my own.

Mom started crying again. "What makes it special?"

"It's the first thing you ever bought me to wear," I said softly.

That sentence broke her.

She hugged me tightly. "I'll buy you so many clothes, Elaine. So many."

"You'll never go without anything ever again," she promised.

But some things, once gone, can't be replaced.

Mom and Dad took me to the hospital to get my shoulder patched up.

The doctor said I was lucky—the blade missed the bone. I'd need a few stitches, that's all.

I stayed quiet the whole time.

The doctor shook his head in disbelief. "This kid's tough as nails."

*****

While no one was home, Jessica went through my stuff until she found the small box where I'd kept every last piece of the broken music box.

"Why is she still keeping this junk?" she sneered.

She picked up a hammer, with a nasty grin on her face, ready to smash the fragments to bits.

Michael just stood there, watching, not lifting a finger to stop her.

Jessica brought the hammer down, crushing the fragments with every swing.

When she was done, all that was left was a pile of broken bits and a fine layer of pale dust across the table.

"Now she's got nothing left, not even a memory," she sneered.

"A monster like her doesn't deserve anything beautiful," she spat.

Michael just stared at the bits and dust, remaining silent.

When we got home, Jessica put on her best innocent act. "Oh, hey Elaine. You're home?"

I nodded and walked over to the drawer where I kept the music box fragments.

It was empty.

I checked all the other places I thought they might be, but they were nowhere to be found.

Finally, I spotted a pile of broken bits and a fine layer of pale dust on the table.

I realized what it was. What was left of my music box. I reached out with my bandaged hand, trying to gather up the bits and dust.

But the dust was so fine, it just slipped right through my fingers.

I didn't make a sound, but a single tear slipped down from my hollow eyes.

It was the first tear I'd shed since coming home.

And the only one.

Mom's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.

Dad was stunned, speechless.

Michael watched that tear trace down my cheek, his chest tightening, like the air had left the room.

That tear said it all—a silent accusation. A wordless scream.

"Elaine..." Mom tried to comfort me.

I shook my head, my expression turning emotionless again. "It doesn't matter. It was already broken a long time ago."

Jessica saw everyone's reaction and scoffed. "It's just trash. What's there to cry over? A monster like her—why would she even care about a music box?"

Mom glared at her. "Did you do this?"

"So what if I did? That junk should've been thrown out ages ago," Jessica shot back.

Mom wanted to strike her.

But in the end, Mom held back.

She knew no punishment could ever give back what was gone.

Michael came over, his voice shaky. "Elaine, I'm sorry."

I stared at him. "Why?"

He muttered, "I... I should've stopped her."

"It doesn't matter. It was already broken," I said, my voice emotionless.

My calm forgiveness hurt him more than any accusation.

The next day, he kept pestering Mom, desperate to know where the music box came from.

"What was it to her? Why did it matter so much?" He pressed.

Mom looked at his bloodshot eyes and knew he hadn't slept a wink last night. "Michael, do you really want to know?"

"Yes. I need to know what happened to her," he insisted.

Tears streamed down Mom's face. "She wasn't just taken, Michael. She was thrown into hell."