They Stole My Heart for Her

My gaze snagged on the knees of my mother's trousers.

The fabric was threadbare and gray with dust, worn completely through in the center. Beneath the frayed edges, raw flesh oozed blood.

A memory from when I was eight surfaced. That New Year, caught up in the excitement of the parade floats, I had forgotten to tell anyone where I was going. My mother had knelt in the family's Buddhist hall the entire night, praying for my return.

When I finally came back safe, she claimed she needed to fulfill her vow. She fasted for seven days, eventually fainting from exhaustion right there in the shrine.

Looking at her bleeding knees now, the ice around my heart cracked.

I tucked the blessing sachet into my shirt, close to my chest, and reached out to hold her hand.

"Mom, thank you."

"We're family—no need for formalities." Her voice trembled. "Just promise me one thing."

"What is it?"

"Nina just had major surgery. The sunny master suite... she still needs that room to recover."

My grip on her hand stiffened.

"But don't worry," she rushed on, "your father installed new heating in the basement. You won't freeze down there again—"

Clang.

The sachet slipped from my fingers. The metal pendant struck the floor with a harsh, final sound.

The part of my heart that had softened moments ago didn't just harden—it crumbled.

"You're the older sister," she pleaded. "You have to learn to yield to your younger sister."

I looked at her, expression blank.

"Mom, I never intended to fight Nina for it. Let her live there."

After dinner, the medication pulled me into heavy, suffocating sleep.

At midnight, a stabbing pain in my chest jolted me awake. My throat was parched. I dragged myself out of bed to find water, but as I approached the stairs, Nina's weeping drifted down from above.

"I don't want you to go back to her! What's so good about that basement? Is that woman really that special? She's a barren invalid without a uterus—a sickly wretch—yet you still think about going back to keep her company!"

"Nina."

A long sigh, then Joshua's voice floated out—gentle, husky, terrifyingly familiar.

"The only person I think about is you. I don't want to go back either. But if she discovers anything, what happens to your health?"

I froze in the darkness, hand gripping the cold railing.

"Your father made it clear," Joshua continued, voice dropping. "Your body can't survive without her blood. Not in this lifetime. I have to keep her happy and willing. If something happens to you in the future, she's the only one who can save you."

"But I hate it..."

"Be good. Don't worry. Every minute I spend with her, I'm only thinking of you."

"Joshua..."

Through the gap in the door, I saw Nina cup Joshua's face with both hands. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.

I retreated silently.

I sat in the cramped darkness of the basement for the rest of the night. The sounds of their pleasure filtering through the ceiling didn't stop until dawn.

Just as the sky grayed with morning light, the basement door creaked open. Joshua walked in, bringing the scent of the outside world—a lie to cover where he'd really been.

Seeing me on the floor, panic flickered across his eyes.

"Serena? When did you wake up?"

"Just now."

"Are you okay? You look pale."

He let out a subtle breath of relief and pressed his palm to my forehead. His hand was warm. It made my skin crawl.

"You have a fever. I'll get your father."

"No need."

I stopped him as he turned.

"I just need to be alone. Tell them I won't be joining breakfast." I kept my voice flat. "Go about your day. If I need anything, I'll call."

An hour later, Joshua's voice echoed through the door.

"Serena, Nina wants to visit the mall. We're all going with her. Be good and wait at home—I'll bring you a gift."

A cold smile touched my lips, unseen in the shadows.

"Go ahead, Joshua. I'll prepare a gift for you too."

Exchanging surprises was common in our marriage. He suspected nothing. I heard his footsteps retreat, laughing as he escorted Nina out the door.

Straight toward their destruction.