Fine. Let them think I was still around. I’d leave quietly, disappear completely. No one would notice, and when they did… they’d regret it. I just needed a little more time.
Later that afternoon, I finally left the bedroom and headed to the kitchen, craving something warm. Soup, maybe. Something genuine, not thrown together for show.
As I opened the fridge and began chopping vegetables, I heard it—a soft shuffle behind me.
I turned slowly.
Sabrina stood there, pale pink cardigan, hair braided neatly. Innocent, helpless little sister image in full effect.
“I didn’t know you were up,” she said, voice sweet, leaning against the counter. “I thought you were still sick… or maybe pretending?”
I ignored her, chopping steadily.
“I mean,” she continued with a fake laugh, “did you really go to the hospital? Or were you just faking it because I was there, stealing the spotlight?”
I set down the knife, eyes locking on hers. “I’m not like you.”
Her expression hardened. “What does that mean?”
“You crave attention,” I said evenly. “Always play the victim.”