Chapter 4

Chelsea's POV

I repeated what the hematologist had said.

But Dad just covered the phone's microphone with his hand and scolded, "You're 17, not 7. Do you really need someone watching over you just to take your medication and check your temperature?"

"The doctor said I might start bleeding again during the night," I explained.

"Then keep your phone on and call us if anything happens."

I looked at the call button beside my hospital bed. They had answered the phone call last night. But answering a call didn't mean they would come.

Yara sat on the bed by the window, a hardcover commemorative album open across her lap. The hotel had recovered the missing box of albums. The first page featured photos of her from birth to the present.

Mom crouched beside her, pointing out which picture had the best smile. Two pages in that album had originally been meant for me.

When the birthday party was being planned, the event organizers had suggested including a photo of Yara and me together, along with a short message from me.

Mom had entrusted me with the writing. I had stayed up for two nights, selecting 16 photos and writing 800 words. Three days ago, the finished albums arrived at our home. My two pages had been removed.

Mom explained that there hadn't been enough space and that the album was supposed to highlight the star of the show. She told me not to get hung up on the details.

The final two pages contained letters from our parents to Yara. They had signed them and said, "Forever your safe haven."

It wasn't that there wasn't enough space. It was that my place could simply be taken away.

Yara flipped to the back and pulled a folded card from between the pages. "Chelsea, did you write this?"

It was the draft of the message I had written that had been rejected. The opening line was, "No matter how far you go, your sister will always come for you."

Mom took the card and glanced over it, a small smile appearing on her face. "It's quietly nicely written. Let Yara keep it. When she goes away to study, she'll have something to remember you by."

She slipped the card back into the album, as though she had finally found the right place for my heartfelt message.

But I whispered, "Take it out."

Mom hadn't heard me clearly. She asked, "What?"

"I'm not giving her that card anymore."

Yara hugged the commemorative album, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "Chelsea, I never insisted on keeping it. Mom said to put it in there, so I just left it."

Dad ended his call and turned around to scold me. "Is a single card worth all this fuss? Yara's been so frightened by everything that happened with you that she doesn't even dare go to her training. Can't you say something to reassure her?"

"No." For the first time, I didn't back down and go along with what they wanted.

Mom's smile froze on her face. "Chelsea, don't think that we owe you something just because you've been hospitalized. Yara was supposed to have a wonderful birthday. But the guests left before the cake cutting, and now she's missed her rehearsal today too. Who is she supposed to take that up with?"

I pushed myself upright against the edge of the bed. I had tugged the IV tubing, and a small patch of blood began to seep out around the needle.

Mom saw it, but she didn't come over. Instead, she snatched the commemorative album from Yara's arms and clutched it protectively, as if I was about to steal something that belonged to Yara. She warned, "Lie back down."

Dad pointed toward the pillow. "We'll talk once you've calmed down."

I pressed the call button. When the nurse came in to treat the needle site, I asked her to help me retrieve the card tucked inside the album.

But Mom wouldn't let it go. "This is Yara's commemorative album. Strangers can't just touch it!"

I said, "I wrote the card. It has a date and my signature on it."

Natara happened to be standing outside the door. She stepped inside and gestured for Mom to place the album on the table. When the card was finally removed, a small round hole already marked its bottom-right corner. Yara had wanted to bind it together with the other greeting cards.

I took the card and slowly tore it along the crease in the middle. Just like that, the card, containing the 800 words I had written, was split down the middle. I tore it again, then dropped the scraps into the trash can beside my bed.

Mom looked at me in shock, as if she had never imagined that I could take back something I had given. She asked, "Are you happy now?"

"Yeah."

…

At 2:00 pm, Ms. Garcia hurried to the hospital. She brought my complete medical file, a change of clothes, and a student accommodation application form.