Chapter Two
+ 5 Points
Chapter Two
My father and Sarah’s father had been friends for decades, close as brothers.
Sarah has had a tragic upbringing, with her mother passing away due to complications during childbirth and her father dying heroically while defending justice when she was just seven years old.
It was around that time that she naturally came into our family.
In the beginning, I was actually thrilled to have her in our home.
With only one brother, I’d always wished for a sister–someone to share secrets with, to laugh and whisper under the covers with.
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When did that dream shatter?
Perhaps it was when she first arrived. I was eating a chicken drumstick as usual, only for my mother to shoot me a sharp glare.
“What are you doing, eating a drumstick? Do you think we owe you anything? That’s for Sarah,” she snapped, plucking the drumstick from my hand and placing it in Sarah’s bowl.
The face that had just scolded me softened into a radiant smile the moment she turned
to Sarah.
Before, my brother and I each had our own drumstick.
Back then, as I chewed contentedly, my mother would just watch with a gentle, loving gaze.
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But now, all her love was redirected–drawn away from me and showered onto Sarah.
As a child, I didn’t understand much; I only glanced helplessly at my brother beside me.
But he didn’t look at me.
The same innocent eyes as mine were now filled with hope, fixated on Sarah across the table.
I followed his gaze.
Sarah was elegantly and deliberately munching the drumstick that should have been mine.
I didn’t mind.
There was still one drumstick left on the
plate.
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* 5 Paints
tugged on my brother’s sleeve under the table.
“Brother, there’s one more drumstick. Do you want it?”
He didn’t seem to hear me.
Receiving no answer, I persistently tugged at his sleeve again, more insistently.
To my surprise, he suddenly furrowed his brow, pulled the corner of his shirt out of my hand, and warned, “Just eat your food properly.”
Eat properly.
I swallowed, then finally reached out with my fork toward the last drumstick on the plate.
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Before my fork could touch that tempting, shiny piece, my mother struck my hand sharply with her own fork.
I looked up in shock, meeting her angry glare.
“Kelly! You need to be generous. Don’t be so selfish! How many times have I told you that? Your brother hasn’t even had any, and you’re already grabbing that drumstick for yourself?”
Feeling wronged, I looked at my brother, my eyes brimming with tears.
But all I saw was his annoyed expression.
Even my usually silent father spoke up at that moment.
“We’ve raised such a selfish child! Kelly, don’t
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eat anything else. Go to your room and think about what you’ve done.”
That night, I sat on the small bed in my room, hungry and alone.
I still remembered what things were like before Sarah came into our family.
Back then, Mom, Dad, and my brother cared about me. They knew I loved drumsticks; sometimes, if I hadn’t eaten enough, they’d even give me their own.
They weren’t as serious and impatient at the dining table before.
Even when I upset them, they’d only sigh and say, “She’s spoiled, but what can we do?”
I may not have been a well–behaved child.
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But, Mom, Dad, you made four drumsticks that night.
Were none of them meant for me?
Chapter Three
