Shrimp Dumplings and Silence

"Sometimes I really wonder if she does it on purpose."

Dad fell silent. After a while, he said, "Stop overthinking it. I'll talk to her tomorrow."

"If it still doesn't work, we'll take her to a therapist."

I floated between them and listened to their conversation, my heart sliced open.

In their eyes, even my illness was a calculated performance.

They did not know how many times I had struggled to breathe in the middle of the night, biting down on my blanket and enduring it alone so I would not wake them.

I did not dare cry. I did not dare call out.

I was afraid of disturbing them.

I was afraid of seeing them worry about me.

But all my obedience had earned me was the label of a scheming child.

I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry, Mom.

I was too useless. Even being sick annoyed you.

If I had never been born, you could have lived much more easily with my healthy little sister.

I lay between them, just like when I was little, with Mom on my left and Dad on my right.

But I could no longer feel their warmth.

The next morning, bright sunlight slipped through the gap in the curtains.

Mom got up to make breakfast. When she passed my bedroom door, she saw the glass of milk still untouched on the floor.

The milk had gone cold. A thin skin had formed on top.

The softness on her face instantly faded, replaced by cold anger.

She picked up the milk and walked to my door, knocking hard.

"Annie Reed! Come out here!"

The room was deathly silent.

Mom's eyes began to redden, and her voice carried a sob. "What exactly do you want? Mommy already apologized yesterday!

"You won't eat or drink. Are you trying to protest by starving yourself?

"Who are you mad at? Will you only be satisfied if you drive me to death?"

Still, there was no response.

Her anger slowly turned into panic. Her hand trembled as she gripped the doorknob.

At that moment, Dad came out of the bedroom yawning. "Why are you making so much noise this early?"

Mom turned back as if grabbing a lifeline, pointing at my door with a trembling voice. "Honey, Annie... Annie won't open the door!"

Dad frowned. "What tantrum is she throwing now? I'll get the spare key."

Lily also came out, rubbing her eyes, and asked in her soft little voice, "Mommy, is Annie still mad?"

I was so anxious that I spun around in front of them, waving desperately. "Don't open it! Please, don't open it!"

But they could not see me. They could not hear me.

Dad quickly brought the key and handed it to Mom.

Mom took a deep breath, as if going into battle, and inserted the key into the lock.

"I'd like to see what tricks you're playing in there!"

The sound of the key turning was painfully sharp in the quiet hallway.

With a click, the lock opened.

Mom pushed the door open.

Inside the room, the curtains were drawn, leaving everything dim.

The next second, her gaze fell to the floor.

My small body was curled up there, motionless, my face a terrifying blue-purple color.

My eyes, once always smiling, were now empty and open, frozen with the fear and despair of my final moments.

The anger and impatience on Mom's face froze instantly, turning into pure horror.

The key slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a crisp clang.

She staggered back, her mouth wide open, but no sound came out.

Dad sensed something was wrong and leaned past her.

When he saw what was inside the room, every bit of color drained from his face.

A strange, choked sound came from his throat, like someone had wrapped hands around his neck.

"An... Annie..."

Lily squeezed in curiously from beside Dad's leg.

"Is Annie sleeping? Why is she lying on the floor?"

That innocent question became the final straw.

Mom finally let out a scream so shrill it no longer sounded human.

"Ah!"