Chapter 2Brother, I Wish I’d Never Been Born

My phone buzzed, shattering the silence.

The caller ID read: Owen.

My hand tightened around the phone. After a moment of hesitation, I answered.

"Hello?"

I heard a cold chuckle on the other end.

"Did you call me just to laugh at me?" I asked, my voice tight.

"Just checking to see if you're dead yet," Owen said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. It was a universe away from the bright-eyed boy in the video who had sworn to protect his sister forever.

There was no trace of him left.

"Sorry to disappoint you. But it won't be long now," I replied, my own voice just as flat, without a hint of inflection.

He didn't know.

I really was dying.

"Ha." I heard him laugh again. "Then I'll be waiting with bated breath. I'm curious to see how you'll apologize to Mom when you get to the other side."

My grip on the phone tightened. "If there's nothing else, I'm hanging up."

The sunlight felt warm on my skin, the only source of warmth in the freezing room. Last night, the pain had been so intense it felt like my body was being ripped apart, and I hadn't slept at all. The air was so cold I could see my own breath.

All I wanted was to sleep. Preferably, a sleep I would never wake up from.

"Ivy's eighteenth birthday party is tomorrow. She wants you to be there. If you promise not to cause any trouble, you can stay until after the party. You brought this on yourself."

"I'll have someone pick you up tomorrow. You have to be there."

With that, he hung up. I listened to the dial tone drone on.

I tossed the phone aside.

He was right. I could have stayed until after Ivy's party.

But Ivy couldn't wait.

Yesterday, I had found her scratching our mother's photograph.

That was my mother.

The only mother I had, the one I could only speak to through that faded picture.

Though I was weak and gaunt, I used every last bit of my strength to slap Ivy across the face.

In return, my brother threw me out, along with my ragged doll.

His strength was terrifying. I hit the ground so hard I felt like my bones were going to shatter, the splinters threatening to pierce my lungs. For a moment, I couldn't tell what hurt more: the fall or the disease ravaging my insides.

"Holly, you're asking for it," Owen had snarled. "Get out. And don't let my sister see your face again."

Owen, didn't you tell me to get lost?

I turned on the camera again.

Inside, young Owen was folding paper cranes.

The clock on his desk showed it was three in the morning, but he just rubbed his eyes and kept going.

"My sister will be born soon," he muttered to himself with a smile. "I have to hurry and make a thousand of these. Then she'll be safe and happy her whole life."

I stared at the screen, and as if speaking to him, or maybe to myself, I said, "Stop folding."

Your sister won't be safe and happy. She's going to die before she even turns eighteen.

Young Owen looked up again, his brow furrowed in annoyance.

"You again. Who are you? Why do you keep trying to ruin things between me and my sister?"

I paused, listening as his indignant voice filled the silence.

"This morning you said she didn't want to be my sister, and now you're telling me not to pray for her well-being. Who are you?"