Chapter 2

Because I hadn't been "obedient" enough to bring dad back to life, my mom slapped and scolded me the entire car ride back.

As soon as we arrived, she forced me to kneel alone in front of my father's funeral home casket.

"You stay on your knees and apologize to your father!" she screamed.

I knew it was my fault.

I was so used to her beatings and yelling by now, I simply swallowed my tears and didn't say a word back. 

At dinnertime, Mom was busy in the kitchen prepping Stella’s absolute favorite: garlic shrimp scampi. 

In the past, whenever Mom cooked a meal Stella loved, my sister's jar would chime softly.

She would always smile and say, "I love you girls. It doesn't matter how hard I have to work. As long as you eat well and grow up healthy, it's all worth it."

I had a severe shellfish allergy. But I desperately wanted Mom's love, too.

Whenever I asked for something I liked, she would just brush it off, saying she forgot. 

"Next time," she would always promise. "Next time I'll make your favorite." 

I always hoped and waited, but "next time" never came.

"Mom, could I just have some buttery roasted potatoes?" I asked carefully, breaking the kitchen's silence.

I secretly hoped that if she made them for me, my jar would chime at last.

Then I could finally afford to save dad.

Instead, Mom flew into a rage and slammed her mixing bowl into the sink. 

"Is food the only thing on your damn mind?! You don't deserve a single bite in this house!"

"You ruined our family! You tore us apart, and you still have the nerve to ask me for buttery roasted potatoes? Keep dreaming! You're not getting any dinner tonight!"

I could only kneel there in silence, clutching my stomach as I watched the three of them eat happily—like a perfect, unbroken family.

Late that night, I suddenly developed a high fever. My face was burning bright red. 

"Mom..." I whispered, my vision blurring.

She walked right past me like I was completely invisible, holding a freshly peeled apple for Stella. 

I reached out and weakly grabbed the hem of her shirt.

Forcing through my heavy, ragged breaths, I begged her. "Mom, I have a fever. Can you please take me to the hospital? Can you please just care about me for a second?"

She frowned down at me in annoyance.

Before she could say a word, Stella ran out of her bedroom. 

"Moooom," she whined SWEETLY. "Is my apple ready?"

Mom’s face instantly softened. She gently patted Stella's head.

"It's been ready, sweetie. Don't eat too much, though. It's going to rain hard tonight, and you'll complain about a stomachache if you overeat."

Right then, Stella's jar chimed softly, again. 

Stella turned her head to look at me, flashing a nasty, triumphant smile.

It was as if she was broadcasting a silent message: Look at me, sister. Once again, I'm the one getting all the love and care.

In the past, I would have just thought my sister was lucky.

But now, bitter resentment and pure jealousy flooded my feverish brain. 

"Mom, do you not love me?" I cried out. "Why don't you care about me at all?"

My question made her freeze in her tracks. Then, she stormed over and slapped me hard across the face. 

"Lila, how can you be so utterly ungrateful? If I didn't love you, would I have put a roof over your head? Put food on your plate and clothes on your back?!" she shrieked.

"Can't you see everything I've done for you? How can you be such a selfish brat?"

She covered her face and started to cry loudly, playing the victim.

Overwhelmed and panicking, I tried to defend myself. 

"But my jar hasn't chimed in so long! I have a terrible fever and you won't even—"

Still making things up, huh?" my brother scoffed from the doorway, arms crossed. "You’re just using the fact that we can't see your jar as an excuse."

"You're just saying all of this because you're jealous of Stella. If you had just been grateful and obedient, and brought Dad back, Mom wouldn't be mad at you in the first place. You made your bed, now lie in it. You deserve this."

Mom acted as if my words had deeply wounded her soul. She wiped away her fake tears, glaring at me with raw disappointment. 

"Fine. If you think I don't love you, then I just won't love you. I'm just a terrible mother, aren't I?!"

From that moment on, Mom treated me like a ghost.

No matter what I did or said, she ignored my existence completely. She stopped making portions of food for me.

Even when I eventually passed out from the burning fever, she didn't bat an eye. She just casually told my brother to drag me to the hospital.

I refused to believe it. I wouldn't accept that the mother who worked so hard to raise me wouldn't feel a single ounce of care or heartbreak for me. 

So, I found a jagged rock outside. Gritting my teeth, I smashed it against my own arm until the skin broke and bled. 

"Mom! I'm bleeding! It hurts so much..." I sobbed, running into the house.

Her indifferent expression finally cracked. A flicker of worry crossed her eyes.

I could even see the golden coins—representing her maternal love and care—suspended in mid-air, about to fly straight into my empty jar.

"I saw missing red paint in the garage. You must have taken it to fake this, right?" Stella suddenly chimed in, staring right at me.

"Mom works so hard to take care of us every day. Why would you fake a bloody injury just to trick her?"

I froze. "I'm not lying!" I explained frantically. "I came to mom because my jar is completely empty! I desperately need her care and love so I can save dad!" 

Terrified that Mom wouldn't believe me, I shoved my invisible jar into Stella's arms. 

"Stella can see it! I'm not lying! My jar is really empty!" 

Mom slowly turned her head to look at Stella.