Chapter 2I Died And Became Your Stranger

I hadn't stepped foot in the home dance studio since the day I tore my Achilles tendon.

When I walked in, Gemma was already drenched in a cold sweat from the pain. She was curled up in our mother's arms, resting her head against Mom’s chest. In Mom’s eyes was a look of tender, desperate worry—a look I had never once received in all my years of broken bones and torn ligaments.

My father stood off to the side, his hands trembling with helpless anxiety.

When Brody saw me walk in, his first instinct was to yell, though he quickly suppressed the rage in his voice, keeping it to a harsh whisper.

"Gemma was trying to learn your ballet routine and twisted her ankle. Massage it for her. You used to handle your own injuries all the time, so you know what to do."

Gemma was a complete novice. She had no basic training, no professional guidance. A sprain was inevitable.

I knelt on the cold floor and gently pulled off her thick sock. There was no visible swelling yet, so I lightly pressed around her ankle joint to locate the strain.

"Ah!"

Gemma let out a piercing shriek of pain.

Before her cry could even fade, a sharp, stinging slap landed across my face.

The familiar physical shock left me temporarily dazed.

My father’s hand was still suspended in the air, his chest heaving with anger.

Mom cradled Gemma closer, kissing her forehead. "Oh, my sweet girl. We expected too much from Paula. You shouldn't have to suffer the way she did."

I clutched my burning cheek, keeping my head bowed. "I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry, Brody. It was my fault. I wasn't careful—"

"Paula, shut up," Brody interrupted, his voice dripping with irritation. "How many times do I have to say this? Gemma is no longer trying to steal your spotlight. Why do you still seize every opportunity to punish her?"

I raised my head, looking at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes.

For a fraction of a second, a flicker of guilt crossed Brody's face. When we were kids, whenever I couldn't solve a mountain of math problems, I would look at him with those exact same innocent, pleading eyes.

But he quickly looked away, his voice cold. "Just ice her foot. She doesn't eat until she can walk again, and neither do you."

I nodded quietly and began to apply the ice pack I had brought.

As the cold plastic touched her skin, Gemma flinched, pulling her leg back. Instinctively, I gripped her ankle to keep her still.

"Mom... the ice is too cold," Gemma whimpered, her voice trembling. "It... it feels like the freezing water they threw on me at the correction academy..."

Brody instantly kicked my hand away, sending the ice pack flying. "Are you deaf? Go get a fresh towel to wrap it in!"

The plastic ice pack skittered across the polished hardwood, making a soft, rolling clack-clack-clack sound before stopping in the corner.

My eyes followed it.

I stared at the lost ice pack, a realization washing over me like ice water.

So... the real Henderson daughter didn't need to be perfect to be loved, did she? She didn't need to win trophies, or put her body through agony, or climb to the peak of high society to be protected by her brother and cherished by her parents. She just had to exist.