If I was good, Mom would smile at me like she would smile at Yvonne.
I envied Yvonne. She was the princess of the family.
Out of guilt, Dad always satisfied her requests, even if her requests would hurt me.
I used to wish that I was the one who had broken legs. Yvonne hated me for the same thing: she thought that I was the one who had caused her to lose her ability to walk.
My parents stared intently at the surveillance footage.
I felt uncomfortable looking at a living, breathing me.
In the footage, I looked fast asleep.
I was curled up in a ball, nervous even in sleep.
All of a sudden, I began convulsing. My facial expressions were twisted, and my eyes were unfocused. Mindlessly, I kept hitting my head against the wall.
Just as I escaped the room, I glanced at the surveillance camera, as if I was saying goodbye.
Mom burst into tears and buried her face in Dad's chest, covering her eyes with her hands. Tears dripped from between her fingers. "Was Yvette really sick? How did t
