Perfect Timing
When I was six, I eagerly asked Mom when she was going to give me a little sister. Her heart softened, and she said yes.
But on the day she gave birth, she suffered an amniotic fluid embolism and died on the operating table, along with my unborn sister.
From then on, Dad hated me with everything he had. He screamed at me hysterically, "If you hadn't kept begging for a sister, your mom wouldn't be dead! Why couldn't it have been you instead?"
I knelt on the floor, sobbing out an apology. "I'm sorry, Dad! I was wrong! I'll never want a little sister again!"
Dad stormed out and slammed the door behind him. He never came back.
After three days without food, I called and begged him to bring me something to eat.
He sounded completely fed up. "Isn't there flour in the kitchen? Eat some flour. You'll live."
I couldn't find any flour, only a small bottle of powder. So I ate that.
Soon, a twisting pain tore through my stomach. I collapsed, and everything went dark.
Trembling, I made one last call to Dad.
The moment he picked up, I smiled through my tears.
"Dad, I think I can go be with Mom now..."