The day my sister, Rylee, ran off with Cruz, the low-life she was dating, I did what my parents, Helen and George, told me to do: I went to find her. I never thought I’d be the one dragged into a dark alleyway and brutalized by Cruz and his friends. Rylee passed out cold right there, a neat little heap of shock. Me? I was left a mess of torn skin and spilled blood, fading in and out of consciousness for ten months in the ICU. When I finally woke up, Mom and Dad were holding a newborn baby. I broke. I tried to take the baby and myself off our apartment building’s roof several times. I only stopped when my family, literally kneeling on the worn gravel of the rooftop, begged me to live. Rylee, my once-rebellious little sister, was inconsolable, swearing on everything she had. “Stella, I promise I’ll never make a mistake again.” Mom and Dad knelt with her, their voices thick with commitment. “Your uterus was removed to save your life,” Mom choked out. “We had to save your right to be a mother. That’s all that matters.” Dad’s hands were shaking as he spoke. “You just focus on rebuilding your life. We will raise Wyatt. You won’t have to do a thing.” But when I finally, tentatively, started to accept the boy’s existence—when I reached out to pull the blanket over him one night—Mom burst out of the kitchen. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she shoved me onto the floor. “Are you trying to hurt him? Can you really not tolerate this child?” “Your sister is already staying away because of you! What else do you want?” Then came the line that severed the last thread of my sanity. Her voice was flat, laced with pure, casual disgust. “You know, for someone who always felt like she was in Rylee’s shadow, getting to sleep with her man—even like that—you must have gotten some twisted satisfaction, didn't you?” A flicker of contempt crossed her eyes as she scooped up the baby and walked away. My fingers trembled. I climbed the stairs to the rooftop for the thirty-ninth time. I didn't look back. … 1 The sound was a hollow, sickening thud. My body hit the lawn by the first-floor entrance just as Mom stepped out of the elevator. She didn’t see me. She just heard the noise and muttered a curse. “What in God’s name was that awful noise? Don’t you dare scare my precious grandson!” She cooed to the child in her arms. “Wyatt, don’t cry, baby. Grandma is taking you far away from your mean mommy.” I drifted in the air, looking down at my broken, shattered body, a grim, pathetic smile playing on my lips. This wasn't the first time I'd heard my mother’s true thoughts. The first New Year’s after Rylee left, Mom cried looking at Rylee’s empty chair at the dinner table. Later, after I’d gone back to my room, I heard her sighing to Dad. “Stella has grown up, I guess. She sends us money every month now.” “But no matter how hard I try, Rylee won’t come home. Money is hard to earn out there. Our little girl, who never lifted a finger, shouldn’t have to suffer like this.” “George, she’s afraid of seeing Stella. If Stella had just… died that day, maybe…” “Enough,” Dad snapped, cutting her off, glancing nervously toward my closed door. The second time was Wyatt’s second birthday. There was a rare burst of laughter in our small apartment. Dad closed down the diner early, and Mom lit the candles on a tiny, three-layer cake. But in the warm glow of the candles, looking at the child’s eyes—the exact shape and hue of Cruz’s—I was instantly pulled back to that dim alley. Cruz, Rylee’s boyfriend, leered at me. He snapped his fingers, and seven, then eight, then nine other thugs swarmed out of the shadows. Rylee fainted. I was trapped. They piled on top of me. They used shards of glass to slice my skin, and they used something else to tear into me. It was all a bloody, churning, sickening mess... And my family was celebrating the birthday of my rapist’s child. A wave of phantom pain seized me, and I started convulsing right there in the middle of the cheer. The smashed candles set a small fire on the cake, and Wyatt started to scream. Dad was frantic, trying to keep me from hurting myself. Mom looked at the red scalds on Wyatt’s arm and her face crumpled in agony. She sank to the floor, her voice a broken whisper. “George, when will we ever have a happy day again?” “Will it only happen when Stella…” Dad froze. His hand, pressing on my face, loosened for a second. But only for a second. He pressed harder, a tear dropping onto my cheek. “Stella, we didn’t consider your feelings. We are sorry.” “We will never celebrate Wyatt’s birthday again. We promise.” … Two years later, floating above them, I watched Mom carry Wyatt directly to the back office of our family diner. Dad, already waiting, pulled out a cake. It read: Happy 4th Birthday, Baby Wyatt. Dad eagerly took the boy, hugging and kissing his chubby cheeks. “How was it? Did Stella suspect anything?” he whispered. Mom gave him a smug, knowing look. “I intentionally picked a fight with her. She’s probably stewing in her room right now.” Dad sighed. “Well, let her sulk. We can’t ignore our grandson every year just to cater to her.” Mom nodded. “Her temper is getting worse every year. Ignore her. Come on, let’s sing for our little man!” Dad smiled mysteriously. “Hold on. We have one more person joining Wyatt’s party today.” As if on cue, a familiar voice rang out from the doorway. “Dad. Mom. I’m home.” 2 Dad, Mom, and I all turned our heads at the same time. Rylee stood in the doorway, carrying big bags. Four years. She was thinner, a little harder around the edges. Mom’s eyes instantly filled with tears. She rushed over and grabbed Rylee’s shoulders. “Rylee! You stubborn girl, why did it take you so long to come home? Your mother has been worried sick!” Rylee forced a strained smile. As soon as she sat down, the tears started to fall. “Mom, Dad. Something has been weighing on me for four years.” “The truth is, I didn’t faint that day.” I froze in the air, my mind exploding in a silent burst of shock. “I heard Stella calling out. I heard her screams. But they were like rabid dogs. I was so scared…” Before she could finish, Mom clamped a hand over Rylee’s mouth. “Silly girl, don’t say it. Your mother knows.” Now it was Rylee’s turn to stare, her eyes wide with shock. Mom wiped the tears from Rylee’s cheek. “When you were stammering and speechless at the police station, your father and I knew. We knew you couldn't look your sister in the eye, and that’s why you haven't come home.” “But we’ve made our choice. We have to keep up the lie. Don't ever speak of this again.” Dad remained silent. He knew too. I hovered there, feeling as if I had been plunged into a freezing pit. Mom and Dad’s faces looked utterly alien to me. I had never expected them to openly favor me. Since the diner kept them busy, I was raised by relatives until I was five. Rylee had been with them since birth. Of course, they were closer to her. So I accepted it. The bigger of the two chicken thighs on the dinner table always went to Rylee. The prettier doll at Christmas belonged to her. But what Rylee had, I eventually had too. That was enough. I convinced myself that a slight tilt of the scales was normal. Now I knew the chilling truth. The weights had never once fallen on my side of the scale. After a long silence, Rylee dug into her bags and pulled out gifts: a massage device for Dad, a wool coat for Mom, and a learning tablet for Wyatt. Finally, everyone’s eyes went, by silent agreement, to one final, unopened gift. It was thin, like a piece of paper, but it was the heaviest object in the room. Rylee unwrapped it and placed it on the table: a bank card. “Mom, Dad, there’s fifty thousand dollars on this card.” Dad’s eyes narrowed instantly. “Where did you get that kind of money?” Mom’s hands trembled. The card seemed to scald her eyes, and she threw her arms around Rylee, sobbing. “My baby! How much suffering did you go through out there? We don’t need you to earn this much!” Rylee lowered her head. “Stella needs it.” “I came home because I made a decision. I want to formally adopt Wyatt as my son. I’m giving forty thousand of this to Stella as a clean slate fund, a dowry, so she can marry someone she loves without shame.” My heart plummeted. I looked at the bank card, my emotions a confusing storm. Mom shot up to her feet. “Absolutely not! A young, unmarried woman with a child? What will people say?” Rylee countered, “What will people say about Stella? She’s an unmarried woman with a child.” Mom banged her fist on the table in desperation. “It’s not the same! You’re different!” “How are we different?!” “She’s damaged goods! She was trampled by seven or eight guys! Who is going to want her?!” Mom shrieked the words, so loud that people passing by the diner peered in. Even as a ghost, I felt a white-hot spike of shame, as if I had been nailed to a cross of dishonor. The word “damaged goods”—coming from my own mother—felt like a hand squeezing my heart until it bruised. Dad rushed to pull down the rolling shutter. “Stop fighting!” “Rylee, keep the fifty thousand. For yourself.” Rylee tried to argue, but Dad cut her off. “Your sister’s wedding fund is taken care of. You’re not a child anymore. You need to focus on your own future.” “As for Wyatt, as long as your mother and I are alive, he is our responsibility. We made the choice to save him!” “If you insist on doing this, you are trying to kill your mother and me!” With that final declaration, Rylee’s throat bobbed. She asked the one question left. “Why did you make my sister carry the rapist’s child?” Mom reacted violently, slapping Rylee across the face. I knew the trigger. She was remembering me screaming that exact question at her. “He’s not my son! He’s the rapist’s son!” “I was unconscious! I had no choice! Didn’t you care about my life? I have to look at this abomination for the rest of my life!” Mom was trembling, distraught. She cradled the red mark on Rylee’s face. Her voice was thick with a twisted kind of devotion. “Your sister lost her innocence, Rylee. Her uterus was ruined. No one will ever truly claim her. If we don’t leave her this child, who will protect her? Who will take care of her when we’re gone?” “We are her parents! Would we ever hurt her? We did this for Stella’s own good!” That one crushing phrase—for Stella’s own good—choked the fight out of Rylee. 3 The three of them, each burdened by their own secrets, swallowed the birthday cake. The sweet cream felt like lead in their stomachs. On the walk home, no one dared to mention the matter again. Arriving at the apartment, Mom pushed the door open and announced, falsely cheerful, “Stella, your sister is home!” There was no response from my room. “That stubborn girl, sulking again,” Mom complained, her smile gone. “She’s a mother now, and still throwing tantrums.” Dad looked at the silent, closed bedroom door and the empty space around it. His voice was unusually stern, almost a command. “Stella, come out and greet your sister.” Still no response. Rylee started to walk toward the door, but Dad stopped her, his expression tight. “If she wants to sulk, let her stay there until she comes to her senses!” He raised his voice, making sure I could hear him. I longed to defend myself. But now, they couldn’t hear a word I said. That night, the dinner table was filled with a rare, strained laughter. Mom and Dad constantly piled food onto Rylee’s plate until it was a small mountain. Mom pulled out her phone and started scrolling through contact lists. “This is your Aunt Carol’s son. He’s in corporate finance, has a car and a condo. Take a look, is he your type?” “And this one, Mrs. Amanda’s nephew. Ivy League grad, bright future. You young people should get together for dinner.” As she scrolled through the photos, I watched Rylee. She had the simple, easy path I used to believe I had. Rylee offered polite excuses, her eyes constantly flickering toward my closed bedroom door. Late that night, after Mom and Dad had put Wyatt to sleep, Rylee got up to use the bathroom. The moonlight spilled through the window, lengthening her shadow down the hallway. Just like when we were kids and she’d upset me, she crept toward my door. She put her ear against the wood and tapped softly. “Stella, Sis, are you still mad at me?” she whispered. She slid the bank card through the gap under the door. “I’m sorry. Is this enough of an apology?” “Sis, we haven’t slept in the same room in ages. I miss you.” The old me, if I were still angry, would have angrily shoved the card right back out. But there was no movement from the room. Rylee assumed the silence was an assent. She giggled softly. “I knew you still loved me. I’m coming in.” She grabbed the handle, pushed the door open, and her smile froze. The bed was empty. The room was deserted. 4 “Mom! Dad! Wake up! Stella’s gone!” Rylee’s frantic screams shook them awake. The three of them stared at the empty bed, confusion turning to panic. Mom was the first to lash out. “See? I told you! We spoiled her. Now she’s running away from home!” Dad was the first to realize the gravity of the situation. “Rylee, you didn’t say anything too harsh to her today, did you?” Mom’s eyes darted away. “No, no, of course not.” “I speak to her softer than I speak to the Virgin Mary. How could I have said anything out of line?” She was still more annoyed at my absence than worried about it. Rylee made a move to rush to the rooftop, but Dad blocked the door. “Don’t go. It’s not safe for you to be out there at night.” “Besides, we took her elevator key card months ago.” “And the stairwell…” He paused, a strange confidence settling on his face. “She won’t go up the stairwell. Not after what you left there for her.” Rylee’s frantic steps halted. She remembered. A confident smirk—part of her old self—returned. “You’re right. I know her better than anyone.” “She saw those notes. There is no way she went to the rooftop.” My heart clenched. I saw the image of the stairwell flash in my mind. Yes. They were this close to holding me back. But I looked at Mom’s face—a face already settling into an expression of weary indifference—and a wave of finality washed over me. Mom stretched and yawned, sounding exhausted. “Stop looking. She’ll come back tomorrow.” Rylee was still worried and insisted on checking the neighborhood. Mom’s temper flared. “What if you find her? Then what? Do we bring her back so we can walk on eggshells again?” “Let her go out and suffer in the cold. Let her realize how good she has it here.” “But Mom…” Rylee tried to argue. Mom slammed the door and locked it. “No one is leaving this apartment tonight to look for her!” “All the other grandmothers are beaming with pride, and I have to live in shame with this child. I am done catering to her moods!” The apartment fell into a chilling silence. Wyatt’s cries drifted from the bedroom, and Rylee’s anxiety only grew. Mom walked in to soothe the boy. “Don’t cry, don’t cry, baby. It’s all your bad mommy’s fault. She’s always causing trouble.” Just as she spoke, the landline in the living room rang. “Hello, is this the owner of unit 1205?” Dad frowned. “Yes. Why is your property management calling at three in the morning?” “Sir, our night patrol found a female body on the lawn. The police are already on site. We need you to come down immediately to confirm the identity…”
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