Chapter 1
I was my parents' second child.
My sister, Dorothy Shields, was born after a traumatic delivery. A medical accident left her permanently disabled from the waist down.
My parents carried that guilt for years, and in the end, they decided to have another child. That was how I came into existence.
She was love made flesh, while I was guilt given a name.
As soon as I was strong enough to push a wheelchair, caring for Dorothy became my job.
Wherever she wanted to go became the limit of my world.
She couldn't stand, so I was never allowed to dance.
She was self-conscious about her withered limbs, so I was never allowed to wear a skirt.
My mom said, "If it weren't for your sister, you wouldn't even exist. You should be grateful to her for the rest of your life.
"You were born to take care of her."
How ironic. Being born whole became my sin.
*****
The cable car line at the foot of the mountain seemed to go on forever.
Dorothy Shields frowned.
My mom caught on right away and started maneuvering Dorothy's wheelchair through the crowd. "Excuse me, my daughter is handicapped. Can we get to the front?"
The staff moved efficiently, quickly fetching the accessibility equipment, and two young men carefully lifted my sister into the cable car.
My mom said, "We're her parents. Can we—"
Before she could finish, the staff jumped in, "Of course, please go right ahead."
I instinctively tried to follow, but someone stuck out an arm to stop me. "Please wait for your turn."
"I'm with them," I said, trying to explain.
However, no one listened.
The cable car carrying my parents and Dorothy was already gliding up into the sky. They didn't even glance back at me, as if their family only ever had three people.
"How long is the wait for the cable car?" I asked.
"At least three hours. You're young. If you hike up, it'll only take about two hours," the staff replied.
I quietly rolled up my pants. My ankles were covered in dark, alarming bruises.
Just a moment ago, my dad carried Dorothy up the steps like a princess, while my mom clung to her side, holding her hand.
And me? I was stuck lugging that 70-pound electric wheelchair all by myself, trailing behind everyone.
Hurried and stumbling, I finally made it to the cable car ticket checkpoint.
As soon as I set the wheelchair down, my mom snatched the handles. "Why are you so slow? Don't you know Dorothy can't stand?"
The heavy metal frame pressed hard against the top of my foot.
To my mom, there was only Dorothy.
I gritted my teeth and started hiking up.
I had to move quicker, push myself more. If not, there'd be another mess waiting for me.
My back was drenched in sweat, and my ankles throbbed with pain.
Walking was never going to beat the cable car. I still didn't make it in time.
The wind was brutal up on the top, and Dorothy sniffed.
My mom shot me a glare. "Give your jacket to Dorothy. Do you want her to get sick from the cold? You're perfectly healthy. How can you be so slow?
"You just keep causing trouble."
Dorothy gently tried to smooth things over. "Mom, don't blame Ruth. I'm dragging her down."
"If Ruth were as thoughtful as you, I'd have nothing to worry about," my mom said, then turned to me. "Ruth, when will you ever grow up?"
She jabbed her finger at me, and those words rang out once again, like a curse. "If not for Dorothy, you wouldn't be here at all. You owe her everything. You're only born to take care of Dorothy."
The cold wind at the summit sliced at my face like a blade, but it still wasn't as cold as how I felt inside.
I silently took off my jacket and handed it over.
My name was Ruth Shields. In my parents' original plans, there was never meant to be a second child.
They chose "Ruth" for me because they wanted a companion, someone who would be devoted to Dorothy, a lifelong anchor to keep her steady. Dorothy's name, on the other hand, was picked when my parents were still dating.
To them, she was the literal "Gift of God."
Both my parents were successful in their government jobs, and they were so busy that my mom was still working the day Dorothy was born.
Her water broke out of nowhere, so they had no choice but to rush to the nearest small hospital.
The labor ended up being really difficult.
With limited medical resources, Dorothy was declared permanently disabled in both legs the moment she was born.
My parents poured all their love and savings into making up for what Dorothy had been denied. They gave her imported wheelchairs, custom rehabilitation equipment, and meticulous care in every little detail.
Their bosses felt for them and said maybe they should try having another kid once they were ready.
However, my mom cried right then. She said, "Dorothy is all we need. Even if we have to go broke, we'll raise her like she's the most precious thing in the world."
One of their colleagues said, "You can take care of her now, but what happens when you're old? How will she manage all by herself?"
Just that one comment made them waver after five years of holding firm.
And so, I was born.
I was meant to be the best insurance for taking care of Dorothy after they were gone.
I came into this world with a job.
Before I could even do simple math, I knew the best way to push her wheelchair, how to clean her without hurting her, and that her favorite fried egg had to be cooked for exactly three minutes with two drops of sauce.
My parents always said, "If Dorothy weren't handicapped, you wouldn't even be here."
Not once did they ask if I wanted any of this.