Parents’ Regret After I Died for My Sister

Morning came.

They still hadn't let me out.

I tapped softly on the door.

“Mom? Dad? Can I come out?”

There was no answer.

Something tightened in my chest.

There were fewer hours left for me to stay with them.

The system chimed again.

[You have twelve hours remaining.]

The pain hit out of nowhere, as if someone had lit a fire inside my bones.

“It's okay, Elena.”

“This is nothing. You've had so many shots, and you know how to take pain better than anyone. They won't even notice.”

I used to cry when something hurt, and Mom would cry too, so I'd learned to keep quiet no matter how bad it got.

I started getting frantic and pounded on the door.

“I need to come out. It's my birthday.”

It was my last birthday, and I'd promised Iris we'd share a strawberry cake.

The door finally opened.

The first thing I saw was Mom's furious face.

“You woke Iris up. Do you understand that?”

“She was up all night, and she just barely fell asleep.”

I lowered my head.

“Sorry, Mom.”

I shuffled out into the hallway.

The pain was bad, really bad, as if something were pulling my bones out one by one.

I tried to breathe deep, the way the nurse had taught me.

It didn't help.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead.

Thank god Mom didn't turn around to look at me.

It was okay. There was still time, and Iris needed her rest first.

She'd become the old me.

Mom hovered over her without moving an inch.

Dad fumbled around in the kitchen, watching the soup Mom had made.

I sat quietly on the stairs and watched the clock on the wall.

It was as if they couldn't see me anymore.

With two hours left, I couldn't wait any longer, so I went over and tugged on Dad's sleeve.

“Is Iris awake yet? We should have the cake.”

When Mom had brought that cake home, Iris was still home too. She'd stood on her tiptoes to look at the box and whispered, So pretty.

Mom hadn't let her see inside the box. We'll eat it on Elena's birthday, okay?

Dad slapped my hand away.

“Iris is sick and all you can think about is cake. Cake.”

I frowned.

“She's going to be fine. She's been sleeping for a long time.”

His eyes went wide.

“Are you actually blaming her for being sick? Elena, when did you turn into this?”

I didn't dare say anything else. I bit my lip, held onto the wall, and dragged myself toward the fridge.

Then, with hands shaking through the pain, I pushed the candles into the cake one by one.

Dad stormed out to smoke.

I carried the cake upstairs and knocked on the door.

“Iris? Are you awake? You've been sleeping for so long.”

That wasn't a good thing.

Mom and Dad used to be terrified when I slept too long, as if I might never wake up.

I stared at the candles and added carefully, “I put the candles in already.”

The door flew open, and whatever patience Mom had left was gone.

She knocked the cake out of my hands, and it hit the floor.

“Elena. I regret giving you everything. Look what you've turned into.”

My mouth opened, but no sound came out. I just stared at the cake on the floor.

Mom's voice was shaking, not from sadness but from rage.

She was furious with me.

I'd become a daughter who threw a tantrum about her birthday while her sister was sick, an ungrateful, heartless brat.

She didn't want me anymore.

“I wasn't—”

“Enough.”

Her voice went ice cold, cutting me off.

She looked anxiously down the stairs.

“Jason, get up here. I can't take this. Let's just take Iris to the hospital.”

Dad rushed up, scooped Iris into his arms, and headed for the door.

The pain in my chest spiked.

It was as if a hand had reached into my ribs, found my heart, and was slowly squeezing it tighter. Every breath felt like swallowing glass.

I forced my voice steady.

“Iris, she's fine. She wanted to eat this cake. With me.”

Dad gave me a cold look.

His voice didn't sound like him. It sounded like winter, the kind of winter where the sky is white with snow.

“You love cake so much, Elena? Then stay here with your cake.”

He walked past me and brushed against me without meaning to, and I lost my balance and dropped to the floor.

Mom followed him out, then stopped at the door and looked back at me, her expression flickering.

I was in so much pain that every bone in my body hurt.

I couldn't hold it in anymore, and I lifted a hand toward her. “Mom, I don't feel good.”

Her face hardened instantly.

“You think faking it like Iris is going to get you what you want? You're playing sick now? Stop the act. You'll be fine after you turn twelve.”

Dad's expression turned even darker, and he muttered to Mom,

“She still hasn't learned her lesson. Put her back in the storage room until we get back.”

“This is your fault for spoiling her.”

Mom's face flushed, and she glared at me. “Go. Now. If you can't behave, we don't want you anymore!”

That was fine. If they hated me, I'd be dead soon enough anyway.

I just didn't want to make them angry in my last hours.

So I lowered my head, said “I'm sorry,” and stumbled toward the storage room.

I sat down on an old blanket and wrapped my arms around my knees.

Click. The lock turned outside the door.

Dad's voice came through the wood.

“Stay in there and think about what you did.”

I don't know how much time passed, but with five minutes left on the clock, I just wanted to hear their voices again.

I didn't need them to blow out the candles with me, and I didn't need them to sing, and I didn't even need to be held.

I just wanted to hear their voices one last time.

I called Dad's number.

It rang three times before he hung up.

Then I called Mom.

It rang and rang, but no one picked up.

I lay down and turned my head to look at the streetlight outside.

It went out, the way a candle goes out when someone blows on it.

“Happy birthday, Elena.”

“I hope my sister Iris stays healthy and happy.”

“I made my last wish, and my mind slowly went dark.”