My Sister Had a Death Countdown, But Mine Hit Zero First Chapter 02
Memories surged back like a tide. They carried the smell of old wooden boards and dust. When I was even younger, maybe five or six, I really had hated Stella. If there was only one piece of candy in the house, it was Stella’s.
If there was one apple, it was cut in half. The bigger half went to Stella, and the smaller half went to me. New clothes always went to Stella first.
I wore her old ones after she outgrew them. The cuffs were patched again and again. Even bedtime stories belonged to Stella. Helen’s voice was so gentle. She would read The Little Prince. She would read The Little Mermaid.
She would also read the Moon Goddess legends passed down by the northern packs. But she only read those stories to Stella.
I would crouch outside the door and listen through the crack. I heard Helen ask softly, “Stella, what do you want to hear tonight?”
“I want to hear The Little Mermaid,” Stella said.
So Helen would start reading. Her voice flowed through the quiet cabin like a stream in a dark valley. I crouched outside the door and hugged my knees. I listened to those beautiful words. It felt as if something were squeezing my heart.
Why couldn’t she read to me too?
In the summer when I was seven, a nearby pack member brought over a plump roast chicken.
Helen placed both drumsticks on top of the serving plate. At dinner, she carefully moved both drumsticks to Stella’s plate.
“Stella, eat more. You need to build up your strength.”
I looked down at the mashed potatoes and a few cold green beans on my plate. Tears suddenly fell from my eyes.
“Why do both drumsticks go to Stella?”
“I want one too! I want a drumstick too!”
Marcus slammed his fork on the table.
“Ava! Why can’t you be more considerate?”
He stood up, his jaw tight with anger.
“Don’t you know your sister is weak? Don’t you know your sister…”
He couldn’t finish. I didn’t know. I only knew Stella’s face was always pale. Sometimes she coughed. Mom and Dad always looked at her with sad eyes. But I didn’t know what that meant.
“Why? Why does everything belong to her?”
I cried as I jumped down from my chair. I pointed at Stella across the table.
“Why can’t you just go away sooner? Give me back everything you took!”
Stella burst into tears. Big tears fell into her plate. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Helen stood up sharply and slapped me across the face. That was the first time she had ever hit me so hard.
Stella rushed over to protect me. Helen held her back tightly.
“She needs to learn! She needs to learn what she can and can’t say!”
The next day, I overheard Mom and Dad talking in the kitchen.
“Nine years left.” Helen sounded close to tears.
“I know,” Marcus said hoarsely.
“Nine years… only nine years left…”
That was when I found out. Stella really would die. The silver numbers above her head, the ones I had seen since childhood, were not pretty moonlight. They were counting down to her death.
In the West Wing sitting room, Mom and Dad’s eyes were red as they carefully sent Stella back to her bedroom. I watched them. My chest suddenly ached.
“Should we… let Ava out?” Marcus asked in a low voice.
Helen stayed silent for a long time.
“Let her put up with it a little longer.”
Helen finally spoke. Her voice sounded so tired, as if she had used all her strength.
“At least let Stella have one perfect final birthday. Just this one day. Her last day.”
I watched her raise a hand and wipe her eyes.
“Ava will understand.”
She sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than anyone else.
“Once Stella is gone, we’ll make it up to her.”
Marcus said nothing else. He only went to the kitchen, took a small piece of bread from the cabinet, and walked toward the storage room.
