Chapter 2

I floated near the ceiling and watched my mother stroke the top of Isa's head.

It took me back to a time before that signet ring tore us apart.

Back then, our parents hugged us both equally, and our mother kissed us both just as often.

When exactly did it all change?

It started the year I turned ten, when the summer camp at the cabin in the woods had room for only one of us.

A week before the trip, my mother laughed as she packed my bag, tucking insect-repellent wipes into my pocket.

But the night before the trip, she sat on the edge of Isa's bed and spoke softly to me. "Julia, you're the older one. Let Isa have the spot."

That was the first time.

I gave up my spot without really understanding and told myself there would be another chance.

What I didn't know was that it would happen a thousand more times.

Then there was the pearl-studded headband I loved. Isa looked at it twice, and my mother took it off my head and put it on Isa instead.

Then there was the antique necklace my grandmother had given me before she died, saying it was meant only for me. Isa called it pretty, and my mother told me to take it off and hand it over.

But the car crash was the worst.

My leg was broken, my vision was going black from the pain, and I was crying for my mother.

She was too busy checking the scrape on Isa's arm to even look up. "Can't you see your sister is bleeding? You'll have to wait!"

I curled up in the back seat while my sister watched me, guilt all over her face. But my mother's back formed a solid wall between me and every ounce of her care.

That was the day I finally snapped.

Isa nervously held out some wildflowers she'd picked to cheer me up, but I tore them to pieces.

My mother shook with rage. She grabbed my shoulders and looked at me with genuine disgust for the first time. "Do you think she wanted that ring? The family chose you! Isa knew you were being sent to that Cammarata hellhole, and she couldn't stand to see you suffer, so she grabbed it first! She traded her own life for your freedom! Do you understand that at all?!"

They locked me in the attic that night.

I went on a hunger strike and refused to speak to them in protest of their favoritism.

It took until the third day, when I was barely holding on, for my mother to take me in her arms and sob as if something inside her were being torn apart.

Her tears fell hot against my face, and her voice broke.

"Julia, I know what this is costing you... but Isa is being married off at eighteen to the cruelest man in that family. She's going there to die!"

The memory receded like a cold tide.

Back in the reception hall, my mother buried her face in Isa's hair again.

Under her breath, she repeated the same words she'd said to me all those years ago. "So today, just for today, let Isa have her last birthday in peace.

"After tonight, we'll really make it up to Julia..."

Make it up to me?

I lowered my gaze to my transparent body.

Nothing was ever going to be made up to me now.

Just then, my father's phone rang again.

It was the kidnappers.

Presumably to tell them I was dead.

The first time it rang, he'd pulled out his phone, hesitated, then declined the call.

The second time, he'd frowned and considered answering, his finger hovering over the button for a few seconds. Then he'd looked up at my sister and declined the call again.

That time, they hadn't called back right away.

I'd seen a flicker of relief cross his face.

Ring. Ring. Ring...

The third time.

The ringing started again.

He finally couldn't take it anymore. He cursed under his breath and answered.