“I’ll call her whatever I want!” Chloe shrieked, entirely unhinged by years of perceived neglect. She leaned across the table, her eyes burning with a venom so pure it took my breath away. “I wish whatever fake, invisible disease she has would just finish the job! I wish she would just die so I could finally have my parents back!”
A suffocating, deathly silence fell over the dining room.
The air was entirely sucked from the space. My father buried his face in his large, calloused hands, letting out a choked, agonizing sob that shook his broad shoulders. My mother staggered backward, bumping into the china cabinet, looking as though she had just been physically stabbed in the chest. They were looking at Chloe not with anger, but with a profound, helpless horror. They knew the truth. They knew that the girl Chloe was wishing death upon was the only reason she was breathing.
I sat perfectly still.
For twelve years, I had worn long sleeves in the dead of summer. For twelve years, I had endured the relentless, agonizing heatstroke, the whispers from classmates, and the physical isolation, entirely to protect Chloe from remembering the night our world burned down. I had sacrificed my youth, my comfort, and my dignity to keep the monsters locked inside the dark corners of her mind.
