My Family Gave My Life to My Sister Chapter 08

My Family Gave My Life to My Sister Chapter 08

After that day, the house became frighteningly quiet.

Mom and Dad stopped talking.

At the dinner table, the only sound was the faint clink of forks against plates.

As soon as they finished eating, they went back to their rooms and closed the doors softly, as if they

were afraid of disturbing someone.

Grant shut himself away at home and drank for an entire month.

Empty bottles littered the floor, scattered in every direction.

He curled up in the corner of the couch with a photo of the two of us beside him and the scarf I’d

knitted for him clutched in his hand.

With every drink, he’d curse himself under his breath.

Aubrey was the only one who refused to give up.

She sent Grant messages every single day.

Voice message after voice message came through, each one in that same sweet, coaxing tone.

“Grant, why don’t we just make that wedding real?”

“We can really be together.”

“I’ll love you more than Hannah ever did.”

She sent hundreds of messages.

Grant never replied to a single one.

Eventually, he blocked her calls and texts, then blocked every social media account she had.

In the end, Grant packed a suitcase and left the city.

Aubrey went back to Mom and Dad.

She sat beside Mom, linked her arm through hers, and smiled sweetly.

“Mom, I’m your only daughter now.”

“I’ll be more considerate than Hannah ever was.”

“Anything she couldn’t do, I’ll learn.”

“Anything she wasn’t good at, I’ll fix.”

“I’ll do everything in her place.”

Mom sat across from her without even lifting her eyes.

Aubrey went over and hugged Dad.

“Dad, you still have me.”

“Hannah always gets angry, she was always making a fuss over something.”

“I’m much more thoughtful than she was.”

“I promise I won’t make you and Mom angry.”

Dad looked at her with cold, emotionless eyes.

Aubrey’s words died in her throat.

The smile on her face slowly stiffened.

From that day on, Mom and Dad never spoke to Aubrey again.

They didn’t call her when it was time to eat.

When she spoke, no one answered.

The fruit she bought sat untouched until it rotted.

Mom and Dad looked at her as if she were a stranger.

Or as if she were already dead.

Aubrey started to get scared.

When she got sick and developed a fever, she coughed in the living room late at night until her

entire body curled in on itself.

But Mom and Dad’s bedroom door never opened.

She huddled on the couch, trembling.

“Mom…”

“Dad…”

“Please look at me.”

“Just look at me…”

There was no answer.

Day after day, that silence pressed down on her.

She started talking to empty rooms.

She muttered to herself in front of the mirror.

She stopped brushing her hair.

Stopped changing her clothes.

I floated near the living room ceiling and watched her fall apart a little more each day.

Her eyes sank deep into their sockets.

She kept digging her fingers into her palms until they were covered in bloody marks.

“It wasn’t my fault…”

“I didn’t kill her…”

“It had nothing to do with me…”

“She died in the accident…”

“Someone else hit her…”

“It wasn’t me…”

“It wasn’t me…”

Then one night, Aubrey suddenly stood up and ran outside barefoot.

She didn’t even close the door behind her.

She ran into the pouring rain, her wet hair plastered against her face.

“It had nothing to do with me…”

“It had nothing to do with me…”

No one ever saw her again.

After that, Mom and Dad visited my headstone every single day.

Rain or shine.

Mom always brought a bouquet of white roses.

She would crouch in front of my headstone and carefully wipe away the dust with a damp cloth.

When she finished, she’d sit beside it and talk about ordinary things.

Who in the neighborhood had gotten married.

How the downstairs neighbor’s cat had kittens..

How she’d finally learned to make the barbecue ribs I used to love.

And how I wasn’t there to eat them anymore.

Dad pulled weeds nearby.

One by one.

Carefully.

Sometimes, halfway through, he’d suddenly stop.

He’d turn his back, his shoulders shaking as he cried.

They eventually donated all their savings to a children’s relief fund.

On the day they made the donation, Mom rested her hand against my headstone.

“Hannah, I don’t even know who I’d save this money for anymore.”

“So let’s give it to other kids.”

“We’ll make the donation in your name.”

Then one day, a terrible storm hit.

The river rose dangerously high.

A child fell into the water, screaming for help.

Mom and Dad happened to be passing by.

Without even stopping to take off their shoes, they jumped straight into the river.

They managed to push the child to safety.

The child was still crying when rescuers pulled the child onto the bank.

But Mom and Dad never resurfaced.

Much later, Grant returned.

He walked to my headstone and crouched down.

Then he pulled a thick stack of photos from his bag and laid them out in front of me one by one.

“Hannah, look.”

His voice was painfully hoarse.

“This is Aspen.”

“The Maroon Bells.”

“You said you wanted to see the snow.’

He picked up another photo.

“This is Maui.”

“Sunrise over the ocean.”

“You said you wanted me to watch it with you.”

Then another.

“And this is Joshua Tree.”

“The stars over the desert.”

“You said they were the brightest, most beautiful stars in the whole world…”

He went through the photos one by one.

He talked for a long time.

“I went to every place we’d promised to visit together.”

“I went for both of us.”

He smiled faintly.

A tear fell onto one of the photos.

“Everywhere I went, I’d take out your picture.”

“I’d talk to you for a while.”

“I’d pretend you were there with me.”

Grant carefully gathered the photos and put them away.

Then he reached out and gently traced my name on the headstone.

His touch was feather-light, as if he were afraid he might hurt me.

“Hannah…”

“I don’t have any regrets left.

“I’m coming to join you now.”