Chapter 4
I followed mom to the master bedroom. Dad was already lying down, wearing his reading glasses and looking at his phone—probably checking emails. He was always working, even after hours.
"Is Lena asleep?" he asked.
"Yes." Mom sat at her vanity to remove her makeup. "She's worried that Ella hates her."
Dad took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "That kid thinks too much. Though I can't really blame her, considering how these past years we've been..."
He didn't finish, but I knew what he meant. These years, all their attention had been on me.
"Tomorrow I'll go to the hospital and pay off last month's bills," Dad said, rolling over. "We still owe over three thousand."
"Where's the money coming from?" Mom's voice sounded exhausted.
"I saved up some driving Uber nights this month. I'll keep doing weekends."
"You're still driving with your shoulder like that?" Mom turned around. "The doctor said it's frozen shoulder—you need to rest."
"Rest?" Dad let out a bitter laugh. "Rest with what money? Ella has another checkup next month, and Lena needs to pay her college deposit soon. The girls turn eighteen in three days, and I can't even afford decent birthday presents."
Mom fell silent. She continued removing her makeup, moving slowly. In the mirror, I could see her face—without the lipstick and foundation, she looked utterly worn out.
"Sometimes I wonder," she said suddenly, her voice barely audible, "if Ella hadn't gotten sick, she'd be preparing college applications right now too. She was so bright as a child—her teachers all said she could get into top schools."
"What's the point of thinking about that now?" Dad rolled over, turning his back to her.
"I know there's no point." Mom's voice grew even quieter, almost like she was talking to herself. "But I can't help wondering. Wondering what it would be like if she could grow up healthy, wondering if..."
She trailed off. The room filled with nothing but the ticking of the clock.
I sat down on their bed—right between them, like when I was little. I reached out, wanting to hug them both.
"Let's get some sleep." Dad turned off the bedside lamp. "We should check on Ella early tomorrow. You know how stubborn she gets—don't want her to actually starve herself."
I lay down between them.
Pretending we were still a family of four.
Pretending I was still alive.
The next morning, Mom's voice woke me up.
"Ella? Ella, are you awake?"
She was knocking on my bedroom door. Two quick knocks, a pause, then two more.
No response.
"Ella, I was wrong yesterday. I shouldn't have said those things to you."
Still silence.
"Ella?" She called again, this time with a note of unease in her voice.
She gripped the doorknob and pushed the door open.
The room was empty. My untouched medication still sat on the desk.
Mom stood in the doorway, stunned for several seconds. Then she turned and hurried toward the living room.
"Ella?" she called out. "Ella, where are you?"
Her voice began to shake.
She checked the kitchen first, then the balcony, finally stopping at the bathroom door. It was slightly ajar, dark inside.
"Ella?" She pushed the door open, her voice gentle now. "Are you in there?"
The bathroom was dim. The shower curtain was drawn, its sunflower pattern blurred in the shadows. On the sink, my toothbrush still sat in its cup, my towel hung neatly on its hook.
Everything looked normal.
Except for the bottom of the shower curtain, where you could just make out a few dark water stains.
Mom stared at those stains for a long time. She reached out, but her fingertips stopped just short of touching the curtain.
"Ella," she said softly, as if afraid to disturb something, "come out now. I'm not angry anymore. I promise."
The curtain didn't move.
She stood there, her hand suspended in mid-air.
No! I didn't want Mom to see me like that.
"Ella," she finally said.
"Mom is here..."
Her voice started to tremble.
The curtain remained still.
She reached out, grabbed the edge of the curtain, and yanked it open.
The next moment, I heard Mom's scream.
