Chapter 3

After I was discharged, my father returned to being the man I had known. He took Mira and me by hand, determined for the three of us to walk out of the shadow of the past and into something resembling a future.

We tried to forget what had happened. Mira and I lived under the same roof like real sisters, sharing rooms, meals, and memories we pretended were new.

We believed that if we worked hard enough, we could outrun the grief.

But we were wrong.

Some pain is etched too deep, carved into bone and memory. Instead of fading, it began festering and changing all of us.

Mira was the first to change.

Every night, she'd bolt upright from her nightmares, screaming.

Then she'd cry, gasping between sobs that her father had remarried and left her behind, that her mother was never coming back.

And yet, even as she wept and trembled, she'd murmur through clenched teeth, "It wasn't Summer's fault. I don't blame her."

I couldn't bear to face her. I kept my eyes shut, my face buried in my blanket.

All I could do was whisper apologies into the darkness and slap myself, again and again, as if pain could somehow erase what I'd done.

I had turned Mira into this.

I was the sinner. And I didn't know how to repent and make things right.

When the helper told my father about Mira, he fell silent, tears shimmering in his eyes.

Finally, he exhaled, "She feels too deeply. Just like my sister did."

That same night, when my father tucked us in, Mira clung to his arm and whispered, "Can I sleep in your room? I'm scared of nightmares."

Remembering what the housekeeper said, he nodded and gently stroked her hair. "You won't have to be scared anymore. I'll be right there."

Mira nestled into his embrace but paused, looking back at me. "What about Summer?"

I shook my head quickly. "I'm fine. I don't have any nightmares. I sleep better alone anyway."

I had sinned. The very least I could do was give Mira peace while I stayed awake and burned.

My father glanced at me, eyes unreadable. "You move on so easily, don't you?"

Then he took Mira's hand and left the room.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

I wanted to tell him that I hadn't moved on, and every night felt like an eternity in hell.

Once Mira moved into his room, her sleep improved, and their bond grew.

Meanwhile, I got older and finally understood the depth of the damage I'd done.

On my twelfth birthday, Mira suddenly remembered that her birthday had become her mother's death anniversary. She cried like she had lost it all over again.

My father swept away the cake, gathered her into his arms, and cried with her. "Then from now on, Summer won't celebrate either. Nor will I. We'll stop celebrating, together."

I watched them sobbing, and my blood ran cold.

That was the day guilt grabbed my hand and dragged me straight to hell, and it never let go.

Every day, I was burned alive by guilt. Every night, I lay awake until dawn.

I only fell asleep when my body gave up.

Mira had to wait for me each morning, but I never woke up on time.

My father's expression grew darker by the day.

One morning, he sent Mira off in the family car and handed me a transit card. "Mira's been late twice because of you. From now on, take the bus."

I looked at the card and nodded stiffly without another word.

It's my fault that Mira lost her mother. I deserved this.

At school, my classmate nudged me. "You know Mira Jones? She showed up in a luxury car. Must be some rich family's daughter."

Then she studied my face. "What's up with your eyes? You look like you haven't slept in a year."

I glanced out the window. Mira stood surrounded by classmates, her new butterfly-print dress fluttering as she laughed. I stayed quiet and shook my head.

From that day forward, Mira was the star of the school. As for me, once at the top of my class, my grades plummeted, my memory grew hazy, and I couldn't focus anymore.

My father's disappointment in me grew, but when he looked at Mira, hope shone in his eyes again.

At parent-teacher conferences, he showed up for Mira's class but sent his secretary to mine.

Afterward, he held me close and said, "Summer, Daddy loves you. But we need to be good to Mira. You're the reason she lost her mom. But that's okay. Daddy will atone with you, alright?"

I looked into his earnest eyes and remembered the vows he once made.

I nodded. "Okay."

I told myself that my father wouldn't lie to me. He still loved me, and this was just how he atoned for my sins.

From then on, I gave in to Mira's every whim.

She wore the newest clothes first and used the best supplies first.

The family car was hers alone, and even the cook prepared only her favorite dishes.

Whenever guests came over, it was Mira who went around entertaining them.

My father's business partners all saw her as the family's treasured daughter. Naturally, their children became her friends.

As for me? I was invisible, and no one ever seemed to care about me.