Chapter 1

When my sister, Ione, was five, she was kidnapped. After she was rescued, she developed severe separation anxiety and PTSD-related panic attacks.

Whenever she couldn't see Mom or Dad, her heart raced and she struggled to breathe. In severe cases, she would even faint.

From then on, our family had one more rule:

If I wanted to spend time alone with Mom and Dad, I had to submit a written request first. I could only have their time after Ione approved it.

Mom and Dad would always stroke my hair with guilty expressions.

"Wren, we're only doing this so Ione can survive."

"You're the sensible one. Don't hold it against her."

So when I couldn't sleep all night, Ione said she was scared, and Mom didn't come to stay with me.

During Parent's Day, Ione complained that her chest hurt, and Dad's seat stayed empty the entire afternoon.

Later, I was hospitalized with a fever of 104 degrees Fahrenheit.

Ione only had to say, "They're not allowed to leave," and Mom and Dad immediately began coaxing me over the phone.

"Be a good girl, Wren. The nurses can take care of you."

On my eighteenth birthday, I got into a car accident.

The doctor said I needed emergency surgery and a guardian's signature.

I was shaking from the pain. For the first time, I cried as I begged my sister.

"Just give me half an hour."

"Let Mom come sign the papers. I'll give her back to you as soon as the surgery is over."

Ione instantly broke down and smashed a glass.

"Why are you always trying to take Mom and Dad away from me?"

"Would you be happy if I died?"

On the other end of the phone, Mom was busy calming her down. After a long silence, Dad finally spoke.

"Wren, it's only a signature."

"You're eighteen now. You can sign for yourself."

The pain suddenly disappeared.

Or maybe I had been hurting for so long that I could no longer feel it.

I took the pen and slowly wrote my name.

So this was what turning eighteen really meant.

It wasn't growing up.

It was finally being old enough to save myself when Mom and Dad weren't there.

…

After my surgery, Mom posted on Instagram. The picture showed Ione's medical report beside a table filled with delicious food.

The caption read: [Celebrating my daughter's successful treatment.]

I stared at my phone, stunned.

Three years earlier, Ione's condition had worsened, and Mom and Dad could only stay by her side.

Whenever she saw me at the table, she would flip everything over.

She wouldn't calm down until I stumbled out of the room, covered in food.

Eventually, I stopped eating with them altogether.

The woman in the bed beside mine noticed my reddened eyes and handed me a tissue.

"Sweetheart, don't be sad. Things will get better."

My eyes immediately began to sting.

My stomach growled because I hadn't eaten all day. She quickly handed me a bowl of hot soup she had just bought.

"Have some first."

After a pause, she asked, "Where are your parents?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat and took a spoonful of soup. The cold in my stomach slowly melted away.

"They're busy," I mumbled.

She tactfully didn't ask anything else, but there was a trace of pity in her eyes when she looked at me.

That evening, Mom called.

Her voice carried a hint of reproach.

"Don't you have spending money? Why did your surgery cost so much?"

"Do you know how long your father and I had to calm Ione down after she saw the credit card bill?"

"When are you going to stop making things so difficult for us?"

I gave a bitter smile.

I had just undergone surgery, yet Mom and Dad still had to worry about soothing Ione.

Now even the money spent on my operation had to pass her judgment.

My nose stung.

"Mom, am I still your daughter?"

There was a brief silence on the other end.

"Next time you need money, submit a request to your sister first. Don't put us in a difficult position."

Then she hung up.

My throat tightened, and tears slipped down my face.

During the first two years after Ione's condition worsened, she always found some excuse whenever I asked Mom and Dad to spend time with me.

Eventually, I stopped submitting requests.

I knew Ione would never approve them anyway.

When I came back to myself, I heard her fragile voice through the phone.

"Mom and Dad, you should go check on my sister. What if she really…"

"The doctor said my condition has improved. I can stay home by myself."

Mom and Dad hesitated. They were just about to put on their shoes when I heard a loud thud on the other end, followed by a burst of frantic footsteps.

Mom hung up with a sharp click.

I didn't need to guess.

Ione had fainted again.

I laughed bitterly. No matter what happened, she was always their first choice.

To my surprise, Mom and Dad still came that night.

They saw me lying in bed with my leg suspended, and their eyes turned red.

"Does it hurt?"

Mom checked the time.

"We came while your sister was asleep. We're sorry, Wren. We shouldn't have left you alone."

The woman in the next bed couldn't help asking, "Honey, are they your relatives?"

Mom froze for a moment before forcing an awkward smile.

"I'm her mother."

"What kind of mother doesn't even know her own daughter is in the hospital?"

Mom pretended not to hear. After helping me wash up, she even said she would stay with me.

Before I had time to feel happy, Ione called.