Chapter 2My Parents Sent Me to Jail for Her

"Skylar, this is Chloe. From now on, she's your sister."

I was so happy. I brought out all my most treasured picture books for her, and gave her the limited-edition music box Mom had brought back from Paris.

Finally, I carefully took out the ceramic vase from the display cabinet.

"Chloe, look, this is the first piece Mom and I ever made together. It's one of a kind!"

Chloe took the vase, stared at it for three seconds, then suddenly let go... The porcelain vase crashed to the floor, shards flying everywhere.

"What are you doing?!" I shrieked, pushing her away.

Chloe fell back among the shards, her palm pressing onto a piece, and blood instantly welled up.

Her cries drew my parents. Father rushed in and scooped her up, while Mother hurried to find the first-aid kit.

"Skylar pushed me... She said a stray like me doesn't deserve to touch her things..." Chloe sobbed, gasping for breath.

My father's eyes were bloodshot. He held her tight. "Chloe, don't cry. From now on, I'm your dad."

He turned and roared at me, "Skylar! Apologize to Chloe right now!"

I pointed at the scattered shards, tears streaming down my face. "She broke my vase first!"

"Is a stupid vase more important than your sister's hand? How could you be so cruel?!" my father roared.

"Mom and I worked on that for three whole days...'" I choked, unable to finish.

"Skylar, we've spoiled you too much!" Mother sighed, shaking her head. "No dinner for you tonight. Go to your room and think about what you've done."

That night, they took Chloe to the restaurant I'd always wanted to go to. When they returned, they brought me a slice of Black Forest cake.

Mother said Chloe had lost her parents, so I needed to be understanding and let her have her way more often.

I ate the cake, nodding in naive agreement.

But that 'giving in' ended up costing me my entire life.

Whenever Chloe wanted something, Mother would say, "Skylar, let Chloe have it."

My art supplies, my study room, even my dreams.

When I was twelve, Chloe stole my pottery piece, the one I’d worked on for a year. She submitted it to the National Youth Art Competition. She took home the Grand Prize.

I stopped Mother in the hallway. "Why?"

"Haven't you won enough awards? Just let Chloe have this one."

"That was a year's worth of work for me!" I nearly screamed.

"Enough!" Father emerged from his study, his face dark.

"It's just one pottery piece! If it took you a year, it means you have no talent. Don't touch clay again!"

That night, I had an acute gastritis attack, curled up on the floor in pain.

They were out with Chloe, attending the awards gala, being interviewed by the media.

The next day, Grandma Rose, who had rushed from a neighboring town, found me and took me to the hospital.

The doctor said that if we'd been half an hour later, a stomach perforation would have been serious.

Grandma Rose flew into a rage on the spot. Ignoring my parents' objections, she insisted on taking me away.

They tried to pick me up later, but every time they were about to leave, Chloe would either have an asthma attack or threaten to hurt herself.

Gradually, they stopped coming to see me, and I stopped asking.

My time with Grandma Rose was the most peaceful period of my life.

She didn't call me Skylar; she called me Rain.

She said I was her proudest grandchild, the smartest kid in the world.

But Grandma Rose was getting old, and I had to return to that house my sophomore year of high school.