Chapter 3

I was still scrambling for Mom's urn when Nora suddenly started convulsing in Claire's arms.

"Edward, look at Nora! What's happening to her? Please save my child!" Claire screamed.

Dad rushed over and snatched Nora from Claire's arms, panic etched across his face as he hurried them out of the room.

Before I could catch my breath, he spun around, grabbed me by the neck, and dragged me to the villa's treatment room.

My old art teacher had remodeled it—now it was Nora's private medical room.

"Doctor, this bastard's got HR-negative blood too. Take her blood and save Nora," Dad ordered coldly.

"But Mr. Foster, she's way too young. A blood draw could really hurt her," the doctor protested.

"If she dies, it's not your fault. This bastard should be grateful she gets to give Nora her blood," Dad sneered.

The doctor still hesitated.

"I'm paying you a fortune. Don't waste it on sympathy. Do whatever it takes to save Nora—no matter the cost or the consequences.

"That bastard's life is none of your concern."

The cold needle slid into my arm, a faint sting following in its wake.

As warmth slowly drained from my body, I didn't fight back.

I realized Mom had lied to me.

She'd always said that no matter what happened between her and Dad, he would always love me most in this world.

Back then, if I just scraped my finger, Dad would worry and fuss over a single drop of blood.

But now Dad didn't love Mom anymore, and he sure as hell didn't love me either.

He wasn't my dad anymore. He was just Mr. Foster.

I bit my lower lip, telling myself to hold on—just a little longer, just until this tube was filled.

But when I finally managed to stand—shaky and weak—and started back toward the attic, I heard someone say the blood wasn't enough—they needed another tube.

"Mr. Foster, Anna really can't take another blood draw. If you keep going, she could die," the doctor pleaded.

"No way. My kid's tougher than that," Dad shot back.

This time I refused. I thrashed and struggled, desperate to break free.

But Dad was too strong. He locked me down on the bed—I couldn't move at all.

Then, for once, his voice softened. "Just one more tube, Anna. Nora is your sister—you have a duty to save her. This is what you owe her."

My head was fuzzy from blood loss. I still didn't understand what I owed Nora. If it was about that broken pencil, it was mine in the first place!

Dad hugged me for the first time in ages, gently patting my back.

But his warm embrace couldn't bring back the warmth I'd lost.

The doctor's hands shook as she drew my blood.

She pulled the needle out, trembling.

"Mr. Foster, I can't do this—treating a kid's life like it's nothing, doing something this cruel and insane. If anyone else wants to do it, go ahead. I'm done."

Still, she gently pressed a bandage to my arm, carefully sticking a Band-Aid on it, her face full of worry.

Her protest made Dad pause, but only for a moment.

"I'll take the fall for everything. If she dies, none of you will be blamed. But if anything happens to Nora, none of you are walking away," he said.

I stopped struggling, and the doctor no longer fought back.

Maybe when they finished taking my blood, I'd die. Maybe then I'd see Mom again.

After they finished, I didn't bother getting up. I just stared at the ceiling. The world was so cold. How could Mom stand to leave me here?

For the first time in forever, I saw guilt and worry flicker in Dad's eyes.

"Anna, once Nora gets better, how about I take you both to the amusement park?" he asked.

Dad had too many broken promises. His word meant nothing to me now.

I didn't respond, and instead of getting mad, he just got even softer and more patient.

"Anna, don't be upset with me. Once I've fulfilled my promises to Claire and Nora, I'll be the dad who loves you just like before."

The door creaked open, interrupting him.

Claire pushed in, her face full of grievance, tears shimmering in her eyes.

She said, "Edward, do you know why Nora suddenly fainted? Anna pretended the milk powder was ashes and even put it in Nora's mouth—and in that eerie room.

"Don't blame Lydia for this—it's just that Nora's too easily frightened. But pretending the milk powder was ashes really isn't right; it sets a bad example for the kids.

"Kids don't know anything. They just do whatever grown-ups say."

The warmth barely lasted 30 seconds before Dad hauled me up again, like I was some kind of trash.

"Claire, don't be scared. Let me clean up this mess," he said.

He picked up the baseball bat and dragged me toward the attic.