Chapter 2

Erika fed Caleb soup spoon by spoon, her movements impossibly gentle.

Caleb took a sip and let out a deep sigh of relief. Feeling the powerful thumping inside his chest, he grinned from ear to ear.

"Mom, this heart beats so hard! It feels way better than my old one!"

Marcus walked in, a pleasing smile plastered on his face. "You bet! This was the best 'gift' we prepared for you."

A gift. They called the heart they had stolen from me a gift.

In that room, the three of them enjoyed their quiet family bliss, and not a single person brought up my name, as if I had never existed in this world at all.

The phone on the bedside table rang. It was my homeroom teacher.

"Hello, Mrs. Buckley? This is Bruno Salinas, Emily's homeroom teacher. Today is the final mock exam before the college entrance exam. Why isn't she here?"

The smile on Erika's face vanished instantly, replaced by utter impatience.

"Oh, Mr. Salinas," she said, her tone ice-cold. "That girl is going through a rebellious phase and ran off with some guy. It's shameful! We've already called the police. She is not our daughter anymore!"

She hung up the phone without waiting for the teacher's response.

I floated in the air, my chest throbbing with waves of pain, even though I no longer had a heart.

Erika seemed to remember something. She walked into my bedroom, the tiny space I had lived in for 18 years. She yanked open the closet and pulled my clothes out piece by piece, tossing them onto the floor.

Next came my books, my notebooks, and the trinkets I had hidden away. Finally, she picked up the only family photo on my nightstand.

It was taken on my tenth birthday when I had begged them to take it with me. In the picture, the two of them crowded around Caleb, smiling radiantly, while I stood at the edge, looking timid.

Erika looked at the photo, her brow furrowing slightly. Then, without a moment's hesitation, she tore the photo right down my neck.

With a sharp rip, I was erased from the family entirely. She took the remaining half—the photo of their family of three—and carefully placed it back into the frame, as if that were how the family had been all along.

My gaze fell on my mattress. Hidden underneath it was my diary.

Ever since I was forced to give blood for the first time at ten years old, I had written everything down: every instance of abuse, every comment where they treated me like a spare part...

It was the evidence of their crimes.

Panicking, I tried to rush over and hide the diary. But now, I was only a soul, incapable of doing anything.

Erika noticed the corner of the mattress sticking up. She walked over, lifted it, and pulled out the pink notebook. She flipped through a few pages, a sneer forming at the corners of her lips.

"Ungrateful little thing! Holding grudges, are we?"

With that, she stuffed the diary, along with all my other belongings, into a black trash bag.

In the living room, Caleb was already able to walk. Supported by Marcus, he tried a few physical therapy exercises.

"Dad! I feel like I could play basketball right now! I'm bursting with energy!" he exclaimed.

The doorbell rang. It was Brigitte Roberson, our neighbor across the street, holding a beautiful birthday cake.

"Dr. Buckley, yesterday was Emily's birthday, right?" she said warmly. "I baked a cake for her. I knocked yesterday, but nobody was home, so I brought it over today."

Marcus opened the door. "That's very thoughtful of you."

He took the cake and slammed the door shut without waiting for her to say another word. Turning around, he threw the cake straight into the trash can in the entryway.

"Nosy old woman!" he muttered under his breath.

My soul floated over, coming to rest on top of the crushed cake. The cold frosting smeared against my face.

It was ironic that in this entire neighborhood, only a stranger remembered my birthday.

...

Late into the night, the family of three was fast asleep.

Suddenly, a muffled cough came from Caleb's room. He tossed and turned, muttering something incoherent.

I floated over and saw a trace of dark red blood in the corner of his mouth. Erika woke up instantly and rushed into the room, nervously checking on him.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Are you feeling unwell?"

"I'm fine, Mom. My throat just feels a bit itchy."

Erika inspected him and let out a sigh of relief. "It's probably just a post-op reaction. Here, take the pills."