Chapter 4

The emergency-room doctor wanted to admit me. Dad wanted to know how quickly we could leave.

The doctor gestured to the notes on his clipboard. "She has an open tibial fracture, a dislocated shoulder, severe malnutrition, and signs of organ failure. She needs surgery and further testing."

Mom stepped forward, her voice sharp. "She needs a drug test."

"We already ran one." The doctor looked down at his chart. "It was negative."

Silence filled the room.

I lay behind the curtain with my leg cleaned, bandaged, and locked inside a temporary splint. Every beat of my heart sent pain through the exposed fracture.

Mom was the first to speak. "How reliable is it?"

The doctor stared at her. "Very."

"Then she took something your test doesn't detect."

"Mrs. Bennett, your daughter is critically ill."

"My other daughter nearly died this year. I know what critically ill looks like."

I closed my eyes.

Even now, Lily was the standard by which my suffering had to be measured.

Unless I hurt more than she once had, my pain did not count.

The doctor recommended scans, surgery, and an immediate transfer to a larger hospital. Dad refused.

He squared his shoulders. "We'll seek a second opinion."

"You cannot safely take her home."

"She is an adult. She can decide."

They came behind the curtain and stood beside my bed.

Dad placed the discharge form on my blanket. "Sign."

"I want to stay."

Mom's eyes narrowed. "Do you have any idea what today cost your sister?"

"My leg is broken."

"And Lily's return was destroyed in front of the entire town."

"She kept filming me."

"Because she was in shock."

Dad pushed a pen into my hand. "If you stay, you can pay for it yourself."

My fingers would barely close around the pen.

I signed.

Not because I believed them. Because I had no insurance card, no money, and no one willing to stand beside my bed.

Noah had disappeared shortly after the ambulance arrived. Lily sat in the hall, wrapped in Mom's coat, while our parents comforted her.

I had never felt more alone than I did in that crowded hospital.

The nurse fitted me with crutches, but my shoulder could not support them. Dad brought a wheelchair to the curb and complained when I cried as he lifted me into the car.

At home, he left me on the living-room couch.

He turned away, not looking back. "We'll deal with this tomorrow."

I knew that meant they were done looking at me.

Upstairs, Lily began screaming.

Mom reached her bedroom first.

I dragged myself upright and followed the sound, using the wall for balance. Each step drove the broken bones against the splint.

By the time I reached the landing, Lily was sitting on the floor beside her bed.

Blood ran down her forearm.

A small razor blade lay near her knee.

Mom dropped beside her. "Oh my God."

Lily choked on a violent sob. "She tried to kill me."

Everyone turned toward me.

I stopped in the doorway.

"What?"

Lily pressed a towel to the shallow cuts. "Emma said if I told anyone about the drugs, she'd make sure I never skated again."

"I never said that."

"She came into my room after we got home." Lily's breath hitched. "She had the blade. I grabbed it before she could cut my throat."

I looked at the razor.

Then at the wheelchair still downstairs.

"I couldn't even climb the stairs without you hearing me."

Lily flinched back against the bedframe. "She's lying."

"I can barely walk."

"That didn't stop you at the rink."

Dad crossed the room in three strides.

His hand closed around the back of my neck.

"After everything she has survived?"

"I didn't touch her."

"You tried to kill your sister?"

"No!"

He shoved me into the hallway.

My injured foot struck the floor.

Pain exploded through my body. I screamed and collapsed, but Dad caught my sweater and dragged me toward the attic stairs.

Mom followed, holding Lily against her chest, her face pale with disgust. "Get her away from us. I can't look at her."

The attic storage room had no radiator and no working light. It held broken furniture, Christmas decorations, and boxes no one had opened in years.

Dad threw me inside.

My splinted leg hit the floor first.

I bit down on my sleeve to keep from screaming again.

"You're staying here until you admit what you've done."

"Dad, I need surgery."

"You need consequences."

Mom took my phone from my coat pocket.

I reached out, my fingers trembling. "Please. At least leave me the phone."

She removed the SIM card.

"You've caused enough trouble."

The door slammed.

A lock turned from the outside.

I heard their footsteps descend the stairs.

Then Lily's voice floated up from below.

"Will we still make our flight?"

I held my breath.

Mom's response drifted through the floorboards, delicate and soothing. "Of course, sweetheart."

The Switzerland trip.

Two weeks in the Alps for Lily's "emotional recovery." Dad had booked it months ago to celebrate her return to the ice.

Lily's tone tightened with lingering fear. "I don't want Emma coming."

Dad's reply left no room for argument. "She isn't."

A car arrived before dawn.

I pounded on the door until my knuckles split.

"Mom!"

Suitcases rolled through the hallway below.

"Dad, please!"

The front door opened.

"I need water!"

Mom paused at the bottom of the attic stairs.

For one desperate second, I thought she was coming back.

Then her voice filtered up through the darkness, cold and detached. "There are blankets in one of the boxes. Think about what you did."

"You can't leave me here!"

The front door closed.

The house fell silent.

The storage room had no food. No sink. No bathroom. Only dust, frozen windows, and a plastic bucket beneath a leak in the roof.

By the second day, my lips had cracked.

By the third, I began vomiting dark blood.

The cold settled inside my bones. My injured leg swelled against the splint until the skin turned purple. A sour smell rose from beneath the bandages.

Sometimes I heard cars outside and screamed for help.

No one heard me.

Or no one understood where the sound came from.

On the fourth night, I found my old iPad inside a box of school supplies. The battery showed three percent.

There was no cellular service.

I crawled toward the attic window and held the device against the glass.

One weak Wi-Fi signal appeared.

The neighbors'.

Years ago, Lily and I had used their password while ours was being repaired.

I entered it.

The connection held.

I could have called for help.

I tried.

My fingers no longer obeyed me. The screen blurred each time I lifted my head. Before I could open a calling app, an Instagram notification appeared.

Lily had posted a photograph.

She stood between Mom and Dad beneath the Swiss Alps. Snow covered the mountains behind them. All three raised crystal glasses toward the camera.

Pink color warmed Lily's cheeks.

My life shone in her eyes.

The caption read:

Just the three of us. Finally, some peace.

I stared at the picture until the screen dimmed.

Once, I had given seventy years for the chance to be part of that family again.

They had taken my years.

Then they had erased my place at the table.

A tear slid into my hair.

It felt cold.

Everything felt cold.

The iPad slipped from my hand.

As darkness closed over the room, I heard their Thanksgiving toast one last time inside my head.

To Lily.

To miracles.

My heart gave one weak, painful beat.

Then it stopped.