Chapter 2The Christmas Eve Exchange

When I left her room, Dad had returned home. He and Denise were talking in their bedroom.

I thought about telling Dad, but I figured there was no point in mentioning that I gave the apple to Bella. Denise would just find a reason to punish me for it.

I went to sleep. In the middle of the night, I realized Denise had come into my room and taken the empty gift box away.

The next morning, I went to wake Bella, but she wouldn't stir. She had a high fever.

"Denise! Bella is burning up!"

Denise was making breakfast. Dad had already left for work.

She rushed into the room, saw Bella’s flushed face, and panicked. She scooped Bella up, then turned and saw me standing there.

"What are you standing there for?! Go get the documents!"

She freed a hand and slapped me hard on the back.

The force knocked me to the floor.

My hand scraped the ground, stinging sharply, but her tone was far scarier. "Hurry up! Stop dawdling! If anything happens to your sister, I won't forgive you!"

I was used to this. She always hit me on my back, my butt, or my legs—places where bruises could be hidden by clothes, places that hurt a lot but healed fast.

Denise came into our lives when I was three. Bella was born when I was four.

Dad was busy with work. It was just Denise, me, and sickly Bella. Whenever Bella got sick, Denise got anxious, and I became her punching bag.

I told Dad once because it hurt so much. But there were no marks, and he didn't believe me. Denise punished me for days for being a "tattletale."

Since then, I learned to be quiet.

I scrambled up and ran to their bedroom to grab the insurance cards and medical records. I knew the drill. We went to the hospital so often the doctors knew us by name.

At the hospital, Bella was put on an IV drip.

The ward was empty; she was the only patient.

Denise sat by the bed, crying, her eyes swollen. I heard her muttering through her sobs: "Bella, just wait... just wait two more days... just wait... don't scare Mommy..."

I didn't understand what she meant by "wait."

That night, despite her grief, Denise gave me another apple.

It was identical to the first one—huge, red, and beautiful.

She pulled it from her bag, shoved it into my hands, wiped her tears, and forced a smile. "Stella, here. You didn't eat breakfast. Have an apple."

I held the apple, sensing she intended to watch me eat it.

Her expression was intense, terrifying. Luckily, Bella woke up, and Denise rushed to call the doctor.

Bella saw the apple.

"Sis, why do you have another big apple?" Her voice was weak.

I looked at the fruit, then at my sister. "Do you want it? Denise gave it to me."

She wanted it. She ate it quickly, just like the night before. Again, her stomach didn't bulge.

After eating, she fell into a deep sleep immediately.

This time, she didn't wake up for the rest of the day.