Love Came When I Was Dead

Natalie's POV: On the day of the accident, I lay in a pool of blood and felt relieved. My phone was still showing Mom's message. Mom: You're the reason your sister fell down the stairs when you were children. You cost her the use of both legs. You could spend your whole life paying her back and still owe her. When I was 8, my sister, Erica Sutton, tried to snatch my doll. In the scuffle, she missed a step and tumbled down the stairs. When she woke up, Mom pointed at me and said, "We found you abandoned. You should be grateful we were willing to raise you at all." After that, I learned to give in. When Erica needed a new wheelchair, I gave up my college plans and worked three jobs to pay for it. When the man she wanted to marry fell for me, I quit my job and left the city. Then came Christmas last week. I stood outside the door with Christmas cookies in my hands and heard Dad ask quietly, "Have we been too hard on Natalie? She's our biological daughter too." Mom sighed. "We can't treat them both equally. If we hadn't told her we found her abandoned, how else could we make sure she'd spend her whole life giving in to Erica?" The Christmas cookies slipped from my hands and shattered across the floor. Just before I lost consciousness, a second message arrived from Mom. Mom: Erica needs surgery. Come home and pay for it. Mom sent the payment QR code to my phone. Mom: Erica's being admitted tomorrow morning. Pay the $60,000 before 8 a.m. Don't tell me you haven't been paid yet. I know you have the money. That phone was sitting in a traffic officer's evidence bag, its shattered screen a web of cracks. But I was standing in the living room, watching Mom wait for a reply. Death hadn't taken me away. Maybe it was because, even as I took my last breath, I'd still been waiting for someone to ask, "Natalie, does it hurt?" At 9 p.m., Mom kept refreshing our conversation, her expression growing darker. "She's seen it. She's ignoring me on purpose." Dad put down Erica's hospital admission paperwork and said coldly, "Call again." No one answered. Mom held down the voice-message button and demanded, "Natalie Sutton, there's a limit to how much we'll put up with your tantrums. Every step Erica takes hurts. What's so hard about buying a couple fewer outfits?" I looked down and ran a hand over my chest. There was no wound, but the old, dull ache was still there. Erica sat in her wheelchair, holding a plate of apple slices. She asked hesitantly, "Mom, doesn't Natalie want to take care of me anymore?" She paused, then lowered her eyes. "Maybe I should put off the surgery. I don't want her thinking I'm a burden again." Mom immediately clasped her hand. "Don't say that. The doctor said the surgery could ease the contractures. We'll sell everything we own if that's what it takes." Dad added firmly, "Natalie should be paying. She promised to take care of you for the rest of your life." I forced a faint smile. That hadn't been a promise I'd chosen to make. When I was 8, Mom had forced my head down and made me kneel beside the hospital bed and swear it. Back then, I hadn't even known what a spinal cord injury was. All I'd known was that Erica couldn't walk anymore, and everyone said it was my fault. Dad opened his account book. "She's getting a performance bonus this month. That orthotic brace she made for the child with cerebral palsy passed final inspection. Her bonus will be at least $15,000." Mom quickly did the math. "Her base pay is $9,000. With her savings, she can definitely come up with 60,000." They remembered every dollar I earned, but neither of them had cared that my birthday was 3 days ago. Erica lowered her eyes and said softly, "She got her bonus this month. That should be enough to make up the $60,000, right? I'm afraid she'll keep it for herself instead of giving it to me." Mom stroked her hair tenderly. "She can run and jump. If she's tired, all she needs is some sleep. You don't have that luxury." I stood behind her and answered quietly, "I'm not waking up this time." Sometime after 10 p.m., Mom went into my old room. It had long since been filled with Erica's rehabilitation equipment. My high school award certificates lay beneath a foam roller, their edges moldy. Mom pulled an old picture frame from a corner. In the photo, I was 16, standing at the edge of the podium at a vocational skills competition. I held my second-place certificate and smiled timidly. She wiped the dust off the frame. Instinctively, I took a step toward her. A second later, she pulled out my photo and replaced it with one of herself and Erica before surgery. "All this old stuff just takes up space." She crumpled my photo and dropped it into the wastebasket. I reached to pick it up, but my fingers passed straight through the paper. The living room phone suddenly rang. The caller ID read Central Hospital. Mom still sounded angry when she answered, "Who is this?" The nurse asked gravely, "Are you Natalie Sutton's mother? She was in a traffic accident tonight. You're listed as her emergency contact." Mom frowned and glanced at the clock. "Scam call." She hung up without hesitation and blocked the number.