Dad turned angry with embarrassment. “Finley, you’re just like your mother, small-minded and foolish. With such a bright future ahead, you still insist on creating trouble before being content?”
He stared at me harshly, tone like winter, “Even if you won’t think for yourself, at least think about Cassandra. She’s a senior in high school and earns medals every year. You wouldn’t want her to quit now, right?”
My expression dimmed right away. I sank onto the couch, worn out.
Honestly, I could not risk my sister’s future.
The year Mom jumped, she had only turned one.
Such a small baby, gripping my fingertip and smiling with bright eyes, unaware she would never meet Mom again.
From age one forward, she was given poison three times, attacked by a snake, hit by a vehicle, and broke ribs, nearly died from allergies.
I guarded her through too many near-death moments. How could I destroy her future?
Dad eventually slammed the door and left. When Aster came back, she found me on the ground, drunk and tear-streaked.
Quietly, she lifted me onto the couch and fetched a cloth to clean my face.
She brought a lemon drink, held my arm, helping me drink slowly.