The Fridge That Rot, The Promise That Rotted Too Chapter 10

The Fridge That Rot, The Promise That Rotted Too Chapter 10

A few days later, Mom was rushed to the hospital after days of insomnia and refusing to eat or

drink.

The doctors said she had severe nervous exhaustion, along with an eating disorder.

She wouldn’t eat anything.

Dad ran back and forth between the hospital and home, wasting away until his cheekbones jutted

out.

Serena kept herself locked in her room.

One night, Dad came home from the hospital and found her bedroom door open.

Serena stood by the window. Wind poured in, and her lips were already blue from the cold.

“Serena!”

Dad lunged forward and dragged her away from the window.

Serena didn’t struggle.

She collapsed to the floor where he pulled her inside.

Dad crouched in front of her, mouth opening and closing, unable to speak.

He pulled her into his arms.

Serena stiffened for a moment, then broke down completely.

“Dad, I killed her. I insisted on that trip-I-”

“It wasn’t your fault alone.”

Dad’s voice was hoarse beyond recognition. “It was all of us.”

Serena sobbed violently, burying her face in his shoulder.

Dad held her, patting her back gently, over and over,

He remembered doing the same for Pearl years ago when she was scared.

That night, Dad locked Serena’s window and set up a folding bed outside her door.

In the middle of the night, Serena began talking in her sleep again.

“Pearl… I’m sorry… Pearl…”

Dad lay awake, listening until dawn.

I hovered in the air, watching this shattered family.

Dad had grown gaunt, his cheekbones jutting out. Mom was in the hospital, refusing to eat or drink. Serena stayed locked in her room, speaking only a few words a day.

It hurt me to see them like this.

I didn’t want them to suffer.

But I couldn’t touch them. They couldn’t hear me.

I crouched beside Serena’s bed, watching her brow furrow in a nightmare.

I reached out to wipe her tears, but my fingers passed straight through her face.

“Don’t cry, Serena. Pearl doesn’t blame you.”

No one heard.

That night, the light from the snow outside filtered into the room, and the only sound was breathing.

Serena was asleep at the bedside, her hand still clutching the corner of my blanket.

Outside the door, Dad lay curled on the folding bed, restless even in sleep, his brow furrowed.

And across the hospital, Mom finally fell into a medicated sleep.

I watched them quietly and realized there were still so many things I hadn’t said.

I looked at Serena first and spoke softly.

“Serena, it wasn’t your fault.”

She didn’t wake. Only her lashes fluttered, as if she were uneasy even in sleep.