Chapter 5

Dad brought Angeline home from the hospital. It turned out to be nothing more than a stomachache from something she'd eaten. The whole way home, he kept lecturing her about staying away from street food and eating properly.

But when it came to me, he never gave it a second thought.

Whenever he handed Angeline spending money, there was never a share for me. Even the allowance I was supposed to get for school, he'd hand to Angeline to pass along, and she never once gave me a cent of it.

I'd tried hinting to Dad that I was short on money. His cold reply had drained every bit of hope out of me.

He'd said, "Why is it always you who's running short? It's the same amount of money. Why is it always enough for Angeline? You think we're some rich family that can afford you throwing cash around like this?"

Of course it was enough for Angeline. She was spending both her share and mine.

After that, Dad just blocked my number outright.

Left with no other choice, I'd taken odd jobs and picked up cardboard boxes to sell, eating one meal a day, and only whatever cheap junk food I could afford. When I came down with acute gastroenteritis, Dad never asked a single question about it.

Back at the house, photos of Angeline and Dad together were everywhere. I felt like an outsider in my own home. I'd lived there for over a decade, and every single time I saw those photos, something in my chest gave a sharp, sudden ache.

Dad set Angeline down on the sofa. The entire drive home, he'd carried her so carefully, terrified something might still be wrong with her.

Since my brother died, Dad had never once held me like that.

"I'll make you a pot of chicken soup. Just wait here like a good girl." Dad stroked Angeline's hair, doting, and she nodded back at him, sweet and obedient.

As for the new housekeeper, she'd already left while the two of them were at the hospital.

When Dad opened the refrigerator, his legs gave out and he dropped straight to the floor.

I was standing right beside him, and I saw what was inside too. My feet felt weighted down with sandbags. I couldn't move an inch.

Seeing him like that, Angeline came over slowly. The moment her eyes landed on what was in the fridge, all the color drained from her face and she let out a piercing scream.

Right then, Dad's phone rang. It was Frank. His hands shaking, Dad answered, and Frank's voice came through, frantic.

"Why are you only picking up now? I've been calling you all afternoon. The DNA results are back. The victim is... Harper."

He didn't need Frank to tell him. Dad already knew, because it was my head sitting inside that refrigerator.

My face had gone bloodless, eyes wide open as though frozen in some final, unbearable terror. My lips had turned a deep purple, my skin marked with cuts and bruises, dried blood still crusted at the corner of my mouth.

A note had been taped beside my severed head.

[Now you can experience the pain of losing a family member too!]

I laughed bitterly to myself. How could Dad possibly feel that kind of pain? After all, he'd always believed I was the one who got my brother killed.

Kidnapping Angeline would have hurt him far more than kidnapping me.

Whether I lived or died had never mattered to Dad.