Chapter 1
When I was eight, my parents decided to have another baby.
They said they wanted one of each—a daughter and a son.
Overnight, I went from their precious little girl to Ethan’s big sister.
From then on, their eyes stayed fixed on my brother.
They never looked away again.
Everyone said ninth grade was the most important year.
But every day after school, the first thing I had to do
was tie on an apron and head into the kitchen to cook for my brother.
My parents were both busy with work. Overtime was a regular thing.
Little by little, taking care of Ethan became my responsibility.
By the time I finally got dinner ready, Ethan was too busy watching TV to come eat.
I finished my meal in silence, then went into my bedroom.
I couldn’t do what Mom did—crouch in front of him with a bowl and spoon-feed him every bite.
I needed to finish my homework quickly so I would have time for extra practice problems.
It was already nine when I heard the front door open.
“Ethan, was the dinner Natalie made good?”
Mom’s voice was gentle as she stroked his head.
But then my brother started crying.
“Mommy, I’m hungry…”
He sniffled softly, wiping away his tears.
“Natalie wouldn’t let me eat.”
My heart lurched.
I didn’t know why Ethan was lying about me.
But I knew what would happen next. A furious shout, followed by my bedroom door being kicked open, revealing Mom’s rage-filled face.
Sure enough, after a moment of silence, a shrill voice rang out.
“Natalie! What kind of sister are you?”
I was still working on a math problem when Mom stormed into my room.
Just before I reached the answer, she snatched my workbook away and tore it in half.
“Ethan is your own brother!” A vein bulged on her forehead. “All I asked you to do was cook one meal. You have to play your little games over something that simple?”
Scraps of paper scattered across the floor.
Those densely covered pages represented three hours of hard work.
Behind her, my brother started wailing as if he’d been frightened.
I sat there quietly, motionless.
I didn’t even lift my eyes.
Her shrieking mixed with his piercing cries until my head throbbed.
Mom took my silence as an admission.
She grabbed my hair, and before I could react,
her raised right hand came down hard across my face.
It happened in a flash.
My cheek stung. My ears rang.
“Remember this. Ethan is your own brother.”
“As his older sister, you’re supposed to help him.”
“When we’re gone, the two of you will have to support each other in this world.”
“Don’t use your nasty little tricks on him.”
She jabbed my forehead, furious that I apparently refused to learn.
Then she took a deep breath, turned, and picked up my brother.
Her face softened into pure maternal tenderness.
As though the woman who had just slapped me in a rage had been someone else.
Ethan clung to her, crying. “Don’t be mad, Mommy. I’m not hungry.”
Her voice turned soothing. “Silly boy. Why would Mommy be mad at you?”
“Your sister was wrong this time. She won’t dare do it again.”
What a touching picture of a loving mother and her sweet son.
Only after they left and shut the door did I raise my hand to my cheek.
It hurt.
That was the only thought in my head.
Mom hadn’t held back.
Or rather, it had never occurred to her to hold back.
Whenever Ethan was involved, she became impulsive and furious.
Every explanation sounded like an excuse to her.
If she had taken just a few more steps, she would have seen the untouched dinner and neatly arranged forks on the table.
Or if she’d glanced into the living room, she would have seen cartoons playing on the TV, with drinks and snacks scattered across the floor.
But she hadn’t.
All she ever did was blame me without asking what had happened.
Scenes like this had played out far too many times.
So many that I no longer wanted to explain.
She hadn’t always been like this.