Chapter 3

When I drifted into the ward, Mom was carefully dampening Everly's lips with a cotton swab.

Dad stood beside the bed, his gaze locked on Everly's gauze-wrapped eyes with the same deep focus I once thought I had received—but perhaps I never truly did.

He was rarely home back then, and even when he was, he spent most of his time in his study.

Yet with me, he granted almost every request. Whatever I asked for, it would appear on my nightstand by the very next day.

I used to think Dad was just naturally reserved and that men simply didn't know how to express love. Because whenever he looked at me, there was always an impenetrable distance in his eyes.

Right now, that layer of detachment had completely dissolved.

A few days later, when the gauze came off, Everly opened her eyes and called out softly, "Dad."

That single word brought tears to Dad's eyes. He pulled her into a tight embrace, and his shoulders trembled.

I had called him that countless times, only ever receiving a measured smile in return.

It turned out he wasn't incapable of emotion. He just wasn't capable of it for me.

Back home, there was no memorial or funeral photo. The family portrait on the mantelpiece was gone, along with the clay teapot and slippers I had gifted Mom and Dad.

Every trace of my existence had been wiped clean, so fast it chilled me to the bone.

Maybe it was better this way. They wouldn't have to look at my belongings and feel sad. People had to move on, after all.

"Welcome home." Dad's voice was softer than I had ever heard it as he held Everly's hand.

He guided her through every corner of the house, as if she were the true owner of this place.

Finally, they stopped outside the door to my room. Inside, it was completely bare. The walls were freshly painted a stark white.

"This will be your art studio," Mom said, her voice full of anticipation. "You mentioned wanting to learn how to paint."

Everly gave a soft nod.

I remembered when Everly had first brought up painting, and Mom had turned her down flat, claiming there were no spare rooms.

It turned out that she hadn't lied to her. She was simply waiting for me to leave and for Everly to regain her sight.

But why would a blind woman be so obsessed with painting?

The moment the thought surfaced, I quickly shoved it down.

Everly could see now, so it was completely normal for her to want to learn to paint.

As I watched Mom gently stroke Everly's hair, a faint memory flickered in my mind.

When I was very little, Mom used to stroke my hair just like that while humming a song, but the name she called me wasn't "Juliet".

What had she called me?

It was a soft-sounding name. Something like "Gemma"?

I shook my head, my ghostly form trembling. It must have been a trick of my mind.

My name had always been Juliet. Dad said he named me that in hopes I'd forget my pain and grow up peacefully.

Dad brought over an art book and sat beside Everly. "Look, this is Morel's Veil of Water. Aren't the colors beautiful?"

His fingers gently traced the printed page, his eyes full of warmth.

I suddenly remembered the art book he had given me for my birthday last year, which was left unopened on the top shelf of my bookcase.

"Juliet, your health isn't good. Don't waste your energy on these things," he had said at the time.

Thinking back, he was right. With a fragile body like mine, I shouldn't have expected so much.

Everly looked up and suddenly asked, "Would Juliet have liked these paintings?"

The air instantly froze.

The smiles on Mom's and Dad's faces stiffened.

"Don't bring her up." Mom's voice was quiet, but it hit my heart like a hammer.

"Juliet…" Dad started, then hesitated, ultimately just patting Everly's head. "The most important thing right now is for your eyes to heal."

A dull ache throbbed in my chest, though I quickly let it go.

They were just afraid that mentioning me would make Everly sad. She just had surgery, after all. Emotional stress wasn't good for recovery.

I watched the three of them sitting in the sunlight, bathed in harmony.

This was for the best. Everly could see now, and Mom and Dad didn't have to worry about me anymore.

My sacrifice was worth it.

Still, I didn't know why my chest continued to ache. My heart wasn't even beating anymore.