Chapter 1
From the moment I was born, I was branded a sinner.
My mom died from a massive hemorrhage while giving birth to me.
From then on.
Dad couldn't stand me. Andy hated me.
Then came the day I was diagnosed with liver cancer.
It was Dad's fiftieth birthday.
Andy called, his voice as cold as ever.
"Why aren't you coming home for Dad's birthday?" Andy asked.
I let out a low chuckle.
"Just treat me like I'm dead. He doesn't want to see me anyway," I said.
There was a brief silence on the other end before Andy replied coldly.
"Then die out there. You're nothing but bad luck," Andy spat.
And like he wanted, I really died.
But after I was gone, Andy totally lost it.
*****
On Dad's birthday, I was stuck in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV.
My stomach twisted and turned, and the taste of blood kept flooding up my throat.
The doctor glanced at my lab report, his brows deeply furrowed as he sighed.
"You're only twenty-two. Such a pity," he said.
"You're so young. Are you really giving up on treatment?" the doctor asked.
I closed my eyes, forcing a weak smile.
"I don't want treatment," I said.
The doctor tried to persuade me.
"If money's an issue, I can help you apply for financial assistance from the hospital," he said.
The doctor continued, "Or do you have any family? Could they come to the hospital?"
I turned my head away, refusing to answer.
Of all times, my phone started ringing.
It was Andy.
I forced myself to walk to the end of the hallway and picked up.
On the other end of the line.
Andy's voice was tight with anger.
"What the hell is your problem? It's Dad's birthday. Where the hell are you?" Andy snapped.
I listened, feeling a bitter emptiness inside, a hollow amusement flickering in my heart.
"Why should I go back? Do you want me to piss him off in person?" I shot back.
Andy let out a cold laugh, clearly stung by my words.
"You're still the same damn loser." Andy snapped.
"Dad's sick, and you can't even bother to show up? Have you got no conscience?" Andy spat.
"Yeah," I replied.
I lowered my gaze.
I stared at the swollen back of my hand, my voice barely a whisper.
"If I show up, he'll get sicker. You know it," I said.
"Treat me like I'm dead," I added.
Dad loved Mom with all his heart.
Mom's death.
He never got over it.
Not long after, he developed heart failure.
He really couldn't stand the sight of me.
If he never had to see me again, maybe he'd live a few more years.
The silence was suffocating.
Andy was quiet for a few seconds.
His voice was as cold as ever.
"Then die out there. Don't you dare come crawling back home." Andy spat.
"You're nothing but bad luck," he added, then abruptly hung up.
I set my phone down.
The cold metal edge left a faint red mark on my palm.
I nodded, tears streaming down my face.
Fine.
I'll die out here, like you wanted.
*****
Once, long ago.
I wanted to be there for Dad's birthday too.
Just to say it myself, "Happy Birthday."
But I never got the chance.
Because of them, those words remained forever trapped in my throat.
To please Dad, who always treated me like I was invisible.
On Dad's fortieth birthday, I spent three years' worth of saved-up pocket money to buy him a cake.
But he flipped the table, smashing the cake onto the floor.
Dad's face went red with rage.
Ashes from his cigarette fell to the floor.
It was the first time he truly exploded at me.
He kicked me to the floor, snarling with rage.
"Murderer. You have no right.You have no right!" he yelled.
I knelt on the cold tile, clutching my stomach.
My stomach was killing me.
My tears kept falling, splattering on the cold tiles.
I couldn't understand why.
I kept my head down, letting Dad's angry words wash over me.
My ears buzzed with his shouting.
My heart ached.
Dad wouldn't let me cry.
I bit my lip hard, trying to stifle my sobs.
So that's how it was.
Dad hated my existence even more than Andy did.
Andy dragged me by the arm and threw me into the bedroom.
Andy was fuming.
"Emily Rivers, remember this. You deserve to die!" Andy spat.