Chapter 1

Mom said I wouldn't be born if it wasn't for my sister.

That was why, after my sister passed away, she asked, "Why aren't you the one who died instead?"

But later, when I died, she cried and said she was wrong.

*****

Mom's eyes were red as she hugged my sister, Claire Henley's photo tight. "Why couldn't it have been you instead? Why did it have to be my precious Claire?"

She cried for so long that her eyes were swollen and red, her voice hoarse, and her lips pale and peeling.

I awkwardly handed her a glass of water. "Mom, drink some water."

Smash!

The glass hit the floor and shattered into pieces.

She yelled, "Drink? Is that all you care about? Why don't you go die already?

"Why did you have to get sick? Of all times, you just had to catch a cold when Claire needed your bone marrow. You can't stand to see Claire doing well, can you? You killed her!"

She totally lost it, grabbed the broom next to her, and started hitting me with it.

I stood there, not moving an inch.

I didn't even dare to let a single tear fall.

I hated myself for it too. Of all times to get sick, why did it have to be then?

And it was the stubborn kind of mycoplasma pneumonia that wouldn't go away, no matter what.

When Claire desperately needed a bone marrow transplant, my body wasn't able to help her when she needed me most.

Since I was little, Mom always told me I only existed because of Claire.

If Claire hadn't gotten sick and needed a bone marrow donor, they never would've wanted another kid.

So I was supposed to be grateful for being born.

Growing up, if Claire wanted something, I couldn't even lay a finger on it.

If Claire was upset, it was my job to figure out how to cheer her up.

And if she still wasn't happy, Mom would say I was worthless.

For sixteen years, my whole life revolved around Claire. She was my sole purpose in life.

I was her personal bone marrow bank, and her punching bag, always there whenever she needed to take out her anger.

Mom, worn out from hitting me, finally dropped the broom.

She hugged Claire's photo and went back to her bedroom.

I ran my fingers over the bruises on my body, then knelt down to clean up the shattered glass on the floor.

Right after I finished cleaning up, Dad walked in.

He glanced at me, my hair a mess, and asked, "Did your mom hit you again?"

I looked at him expressionlessly, and nodded.

He let out a long sigh. "Claire's gone, and your mom's hurting. Don't take it personally, okay?"

He handed me a few bucks. "Go get yourself something to eat."

That was when I realized I hadn't eaten a thing all day, having just been keeping Mom company.

I mumbled, "Okay."

I took the money and slipped it into my pocket.

After tidying up a bit, I threw on my coat and headed out.

As I closed the door behind me, I heard Mom's heart-wrenching sobs coming from the bedroom.

At that moment, I couldn't help but wonder if she would cry like this for me if I was the one who died.

By the time I stepped outside, the sun was already sinking low in the sky.

The warm orange light was fading fast, the sky getting darker by the second.

I clutched the money in my pocket and grabbed some barbecue.

Before, I could only stare at it, never taste it.

Mom always said barbecue was unhealthy, and even though I wanted to eat something tasty, I couldn't risk Claire's health.

It would be way too selfish.

So, for sixteen years, I never got to eat burgers, fried chicken, or barbecue.

I never even tasted coffee, or soda.

The only time I ever got to try barbecue was when a classmate in middle school bought it for me.

When Mom found out, she stormed over to my classmate's house and caused a big fuss.

She made me stand outside the house all night as punishment.

The next day, I came down with a 104-degree fever and lost my only friend.

Mom just dumped me at the hospital, saying I had it coming.

I watched the girl in the next bed, sick and clinging to her mom, whining sweetly. I couldn't help but envy her.

Now, as I stared at the steaming barbecue, my tears rolled down my cheeks and fell on it.

I remembered how delicious it was the last time I had it, but now, all I could taste was bitterness.

Back then, I used to think about how my life would be if I didn't have a sister.

Maybe then Mom would give me a little of the love she always gave Claire.

Now I had my answer.

Mom would never love me, even if Claire was gone.

I only exist because of Claire.

Now that Claire was gone, what was the point of my existence?

After I finished eating, I walked home slowly.

Honestly, I didn't want to go back at all. I hated the way Mom looked at me, like I was some kind of villain.

The way she looked at me made me feel powerless and lost.

If a kid's own mom hated her, it was no different from being abandoned by the whole world.

But if I didn't go home, where else could I go?

I took a deep breath, got ready for another round of yelling or hitting, and gently knocked on the door.

I knocked and knocked, but there was no response from inside.

Paula Wesley, our neighbor, opened the door, her face full of bewilderment. "Nadia? Weren't you out with your folks, relaxing?"

"Relaxing?" I repeated, confused.

"Yeah, they just left. Your dad said he didn't want your mom sitting around staring at Claire's stuff and getting all sad, so he's taking her out for a few days to help her feel better. Didn't they tell you?" Paula asked.

I shook my head.