Chapter 2One Cry of Pain, and My Parents Stopped Loving Me

When I opened my eyes again, I was looking down at my own small, pale body floating in the tub.

So, I was dead.

I heard the front door open, followed by my sister’s cheerful voice.

“Willow, I’m home!”

I rushed out to see them.

Mom and Dad were back, holding Poppy’s hands. Dad was carrying a strawberry cake.

He stopped short when he saw the mess in the living room.

“What happened here?”

Mom’s brow furrowed. “She threw a tantrum this morning. She lied about being sick because she was mad I was taking Poppy to school.”

Dad’s face darkened. “She’s getting more and more inconsiderate.”

I tried to explain, waving my hands frantically in front of them. “No, that’s not it! Willow wasn’t trying to make you mad!”

But my hands passed right through my father’s shoulder. They didn’t notice a thing.

Poppy pulled her hand free from Mom’s and ran to my bedroom door.

She knocked softly. “Willow, come out and have some cake.”

Silence.

She looked up at them. “Is Willow asleep?”

I floated over and hugged her. “Thank you, Poppy.”

Mom’s voice was hard. “She’s not asleep. She’s ignoring us on purpose. Leave her. We’ll eat first.”

Dad set the cake on the dining table.

Poppy stared at it, her voice small. “But I want to wait for Willow…”

Dad opened the box, exchanging a look with Mom. “If only Willow were half as thoughtful as her sister, our lives would be so much easier.”

He stuck five candles in the cake and lit them.

Poppy was lifted onto a chair, and as her parents watched, she blew them out.

Today was also her fifth birthday.

Mom asked gently, “Did you make a wish, Poppy?”

Poppy’s eyes sparkled. “I did. I wished that Willow…”

Dad smiled and stroked her hair. “Shh. If you say it out loud, it won’t come true.”

I watched from the side, a silent observer.

On my birthdays, the house always smelled of medicine. The number of candles on the cake felt more like a countdown.

But Poppy’s birthday finally looked like a real birthday.

When it was time to cut the cake, Poppy insisted on the biggest piece.

“This one is for Willow!”

She carried the plate to my bedroom door and knocked again. “Willow, come have some strawberry cake with me!”

Still no response.

The smile on Poppy’s face slowly faded.

She carried the plate back to the table. “Willow won’t answer me,” she said quietly.

Suddenly, Dad reached out and snatched the plate from her hands.

He threw the whole thing, the perfectly frosted slice of strawberry cake, into the trash can.

He slammed his hand on the table. “Fine, then she can have nothing! Nobody is to call for her again. A few missed meals will teach her a lesson.”

Poppy was so startled, her eyes instantly filled with tears.

Mom pulled her into her arms, glaring at Dad. “Why are you yelling at her?”

Then she spoke softly to Poppy. “It’s okay, sweetie. We’ll eat first. When your sister realizes she was wrong, she’ll come out on her own.”

I knelt by the trash can, looking at the discarded cake. The strawberry on top was still so fresh, now nestled among used tissues.

What a waste. Strawberry was my favorite.

Poppy ate her own small slice, her eyes darting toward my door every few seconds.

My parents ate in a heavy silence.

There were supposed to be four of us at the table. Now, one chair was empty.

I sat down in it and whispered to my sister, “Happy birthday.”