Chapter 3The Ghost in the ICU

A few days later, Caleb was discharged. The whole family treated him like he was made of glass.

Mom packed his bag. Dad pulled the car right up to the entrance. Sarah put his shoes on for him.

On the ride home, Mom complained, "Ethan really is garbage. His brother gets discharged, and he doesn't even show up? Wait until we get home."

Dad glanced at her. "I told you. Keeping him around is a liability. Something bad was bound to happen."

"Wait until we get home."

Those words triggered a flood of memories.

Mom always favored Caleb.

When Caleb was born, I accidentally knocked over a glass of water, causing Mom to slip. She went into labor early. Caleb spent weeks in the NICU.

Dad slapped me so hard he perforated my eardrum. "You jinx! You almost killed your brother before he was even born!"

Mom lay in the hospital bed, looking at me with pure disappointment.

In elementary school, Caleb and I fought over a toy car.

It was a cheap toy Dad had bought as an afterthought when getting Caleb a limited-edition set. But it was my treasure.

Caleb had boxes of toys, but he wanted mine. He grabbed it, then screamed and burst into fake tears.

Mom rushed in, hugging him. "Ethan! Your brother suffered so much as a baby, and you're bullying him?"

"I didn't—"

"Mom, don't be mad," Caleb sobbed. "I shouldn't have caused trouble."

Dad came home and whipped me with a belt. "A cold-blooded kid like you should have been left at the orphanage."

I cried and begged, but the more I cried, the harder he hit.

Mom and Sarah watched from the couch, cold and indifferent.

From that day on, I learned not to fight. I learned not to explain. I learned to be invisible.

Until now. Until they left me to die on a cold metal table.