Abusive Parents

A few days later, Leila was discharged, all thanks to her family's meticulous care. My mother was helping her pack things up, while my father was already waiting outside the hospital in his car. He didn't want her to walk even one step more than necessary. Harold even helped her put on her shoes. He didn't want her tiring herself out.

On their way back, my mother grumbled, "I can't believe Sheila didn't even show up. Her own sister is getting discharged. And she didn't even apologize! I'm going to give her a piece of my mind when we get home!"

My father looked at her. "Told you keeping her around would be bad for us."

My mother wanted to give me a piece of her mind? Honestly, that brought back a lot of memories. Since we were kids, my mother had always expected me to bend over backwards for Leila. That girl was her golden child.

The reason? She was born early, and it was my fault, apparently, since I knocked over a glass of water and my mother slipped and fell. Leila had to be put in an incubator, and it broke my family's heart.

My father slapped me so hard, my eardrums popped. "You're a curse on our family! You almost killed your sister, and she just came to this world!"

My mother was in bed, but she opened her eyes weakly, and there was only disappointment in her gaze.

When we were in elementary school, I fought Leila over a doll, and my father beat me up so hard, I couldn't get out of bed for days. That doll was my favorite toy. Yes, it was something my father bought as an afterthought after he got Leila her gift, but I treasured it anyway.

Halfway through our fight, Leila suddenly screamed and cried her heart out. My mother quickly hugged her. Through her tears, she roared, "Your sister went through hell because of you, girl! What more do you want from her?"

"I didn't—"

Before I could even finish, Leila started shedding tears—fake ones, of course—and sobbed, "It's alright, Mom. I shouldn't have fought Sheila over a toy."

My father got back home, and he grabbed me like I was a chick and smacked me around like a ragdoll. "You're a cold-blooded snake. I should throw you out right now! You're going to ruin us sooner or later!"

I was bawling my eyes out, begging for my father to stop, but that only made him think I was putting on an act.

The abuse got worse, naturally. My mother and Harold only watched it go on. They didn't even want to help. Maybe they wanted my father to kill me. Maybe they hated my guts.

From that day onward, every time I made Leila cry, my parents would yell at me and then put their hands on me. Eventually, I would stop trying to take away any love they had for Leila or hoping they would have eyes on me.

I never tried to explain myself, nor did I try to get close to them. And now, they left me behind in a freezing operating theater.

The Call

They got home, and Leila threw herself onto the couch. "I'm hungry," she said. Harold ran into the kitchen, eager to show Leila the new cooking he had just learned.

Harold never did any housework, yet for Leila, he went through pages and pages of healthy recipes.

He didn't want his precious sister to even feel a bit uncomfortable. My father whipped out the latest console and said it was her present, to celebrate her escaping the jaws of death.

My mother cleaned every inch of Leila's room and sprinkled all sorts of plants around the place. "Fresh air helps with recovery."

All Leila did was play her console on the couch, and the whole family was already serving her like she was a princess.

They had another guest in the room—my soul. This was my home, or it was supposed to be. For years, it was nothing but an ice-cold prison for me.

Someone rang the doorbell, and I saw a familiar figure outside. My boyfriend, Zacharias Francestine. The first thing he did after coming in was show concern for Leila.

"Mr. and Mrs. Greenhorn, I heard she got out of the hospital today, so I thought I should get her something that would help with recovery."

Leila tossed her console away and put on a coy mask. "You didn't have to, Zack. I'm all better now."

Zacharias smiled at her gently. He was always cool and composed around me, yet he seemed to adore my sister. For some reason, he felt like a stranger to me now.

Suddenly, he asked, "Where's Sheila?"

My family would've forgotten about me if Zacharias hadn't brought me up. My mother's face fell.

"Why'd you bring her up? All I did was lecture her a little, and she's refusing to come back home. Fine. If she loves the world out there, she can stay outside! The family will be better without her. She's nothing but trouble!"

Zacharias nodded. "Yes. If she comes back, she's going to hurt Leila's recovery."

Harold served his sister the healthy meal he had whipped up. "So, when are you breaking up with her? If you're not taking your chances with Leila, someone else will."

Zacharias went red. "I was going to have the talk with Sheila."

A wave of sadness charged up my throat. I laughed at myself and turned around, refusing to look at them.

Well, I was used to the role of the girl who was never loved.

For some reason, my mother got a little restless after dinner. She went into her bedroom and scrolled through her phone for something.

I checked it out. She was looking for my number. She then called me, but no one picked up. Again, she tried. No answer. Then again. Nothing. Again. Nothing. Again. Nothing.

My mother slammed her phone. "You're ignoring me? Do you really think I care about you?"

I wanted to tell her that the dead couldn't take any calls.

My mother called the nurse who helped me. "Did Sheila tell you what she's up to? Tell her to get back home and apologize to her sister! She'd better not defy me, or she's never coming home!"

The nurse fell into a moment of silence, then she answered, "Ma'am, Sheila died a week ago. The car crash ruptured her heart, and she desperately needed surgery, but all the doctors were checking on Leila. Your orders."