They Guarded My Sister's Last Day and Let Me Die Alone

Chapter 4

My mother's expression shifted at once. "She's... she's in her room doing homework," she said, looking away, her hands busy straightening the red cloth in the basket.

Grandma said nothing. She just looked at her.

"Doing homework?"

"I'll go check on her."

"Mom." My mother stood up quickly. "Claire's been throwing a tantrum. I had her spend some time in the storage closet to cool down."

Grandma went still.

"What did you say?" she asked, each word deliberate. "You locked Claire in the storage closet?"

"You know tomorrow is Stella's..." My mother's voice trailed off until it was barely audible.

The color drained from Grandma's face. She rose to her feet, swaying with the quickness of it. My mother moved to steady her, but Grandma pushed her hand away.

"Margaret!" Grandma's voice shook. "Claire is your daughter too!"

My mother opened her mouth, but Grandma cut her off.

"Yes, I know Stella has had a hard life. I know she was born with that cursed death clock over her head. I know you love her and want to give her everything, want her to go in peace and happiness. I know all of that." Her voice rose, tears brimming in her eyes. "But what about Claire? Has Claire had it easy? What has she ever been given, her whole life? Her sister's old hand-me-downs. Her sister's leftovers. Even your love, she's had to give half of it away."

"Mom, I never—" my mother started, but her voice had no strength behind it.

"They're both good children. Both of them. But you, as their parents—don't you owe Claire something? Does she not deserve even a little love?" My mother sank into the chair, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders heaving.

"And now you won't even let the two of them see each other one last time?" Grandma's voice broke. "Stella is leaving tomorrow. Claire is her only little sister, the one she's looked after her whole life. How do you expect Stella to go? With regrets?"

"I just... I just wanted her to have one happy last day," my mother sobbed from behind her hands. "I didn't want Claire to upset her..."

Late into the night, Stella's door stayed closed.

"Go to sleep," Grandma finally said, her voice worn down to a rasp. "Tomorrow... we'll need to be up early."

My mother stirred, as if she meant to say something, then shook her head. "I can't sleep."

My father hadn't moved either.

Grandma sighed and let it go. She got up, walked to the storage closet, and crouched down in front of the door. "Claire," she said softly into the gap. "Grandma's right here with you. Don't be afraid."

My tears fell again.

Time moved slowly. The candles burned down, and the living room went dark. Outside, the sky began to lighten, shifting from deep blue to gray-blue to the pale white of early dawn. The first thread of morning light came through the window and fell across the worn floorboards, catching the dust floating in the air.

Grandma got to her feet and walked to Stella's door. She raised her hand to knock, then stopped, her hand hovering in the air. She stood there for a long moment before finally saying, quietly, "Stella. Time to get up."

A soft sound came from inside. The door opened.

"Grandma. Mom, Dad." Stella spoke softly, a small smile on her face.

My mother lurched to her feet and rushed over, pulling Stella into her arms and holding on as if she could press her into her very bones. My father followed, his hand trembling as he gently touched the top of Stella's head.

"Stella..." My mother's voice came apart.

"I'm okay, Mom," Stella said softly, patting her back. "I really am."

Grandma stood to the side and watched them in silence. Then something seemed to come to her, and she spun around toward the storage closet. "Claire!" Her voice rang out sharp and clear in the quiet morning. "Quick, let Claire out!"

Only then did my parents remember me, still locked inside. They broke into tearful laughter, talking over each other. "Right, right, let Claire out—she's still in there!" "Stella's okay, this is wonderful news!"

My mother held onto Stella's hand while my father led the way, the three of them rushing toward the storage closet, their faces bright with relief and joy.

But the moment my father pushed the door open, the color left his face. He jerked his hand back, and the words came out of him in a murmur: "Something's wrong. Something's wrong."