The next day, my parents discharged Bella from the hospital.

She looked drained and vacant.

As Daddy folded the princess dress, his fingertips brushed against a patch of stiff, dark red fabric at the cuff.

After a long moment, he called out to Mommy.

“Come take a look at this… is this… is this blood?”

Mommy leaned in.

After a while, her face turned deathly pale.

She grabbed Bella’s arm and began checking her frantically.

“Bella, tell Mommy—where are you hurt? Let Mommy see!”

Daddy also panicked and examined Bella’s other arm, even lifting her hair to check her scalp.

Bella only stared back with hollow, empty eyes, letting them move her as they pleased.

She didn’t cry, didn’t protest, and didn’t speak.

They found no wounds at all.

That blood did not belong to Bella.

I drifted over and looked at it as well.

That bloodstain must have been mine, from when that monster grabbed both Bella and me.

He had seized my hair and yanked it back violently.

In the burst of pain, I lost my balance, and my forehead slammed hard against a jutting corner of stone in the wall.

Warm liquid instantly blurred my left eye.

A few drops of blood splashed from my forehead and landed on the blue sleeve Bella was clutching tightly.

“Cassie!”

Bella’s piercing cry became the last clear sound in my memory.

After that, everything turned chaotic and dark.

I only remembered using my final strength to shove Bella toward the crowded plaza.

Then more fists fell, along with more pain.

When I became conscious again, I was floating lightly, crouched in front of the slice of cake Mommy had saved for me.

“It’s not Bella’s…”

Daddy’s eyes were blank, his voice trembling as he asked Mommy, “Then whose is it?”

Mommy didn’t answer.

She suddenly turned to look at Bella, who kept calling out my name over and over again.

She was clutching the water bottle, shaking uncontrollably.

Unlike the car ride to the hospital, filled with scolding and cursing, the return trip had been deathly silent.

I followed them into the residential compound.

Just as we reached the unit entrance, we ran into the neighbor’s college-aged son across the hall.

He was about to ride his bicycle out.

“Mr. and Mrs. Tesla? Bella’s okay now, right?”

He stopped his bike, a simple, honest smile on his face.

“Oh, right, happy belated birthday, Mrs. Tesla.

“Yesterday, we added a lot of mango to your cake. It was Cassie’s idea. She said it’s your favorite.”

I saw Mommy’s fingers twitch violently, her nails digging almost painfully into her own palm.

The young man continued, his tone light and teasing.

“Last month, Cassie helped out at my parents’ cake shop for an afternoon. She earned a little money and was so happy, said she wanted to buy you a birthday gift.

“She even asked my mom which hand cream was best for you, since your hands crack in winter.

“Cassie’s a really nice person. She’s so thoughtful, sensible, and efficient at work.”

My parents froze completely in place.

I was a little stunned, too.

I remembered that tube of hand cream.

I had hidden it in the smallest zippered pocket deep inside my backpack, like guarding a huge, sweet secret.

Every night after finishing my homework, I would secretly take it out and touch it.

I imagined, when Mommy received it, whether for just a fleeting moment, the corners of her mouth would curl upward.

Whether she would use those hands to gently rub my hair.

Even if only once.

But now, it probably still lay quietly in that backpack, alongside my body, long dead, tucked away in some dirty corner.

Mommy opened her mouth, probably wanting to argue like usual, but this time all the harsh words stuck in her throat.

For the first time, when the subject was me, she fell silent.

Back at home, the silence continued.

Without a word, Mommy grabbed the mop and began scrubbing the floor, pressing so hard it felt like she might puncture the wood.

Daddy didn’t turn on his computer.

He sat on the sofa, then suddenly looked up at Mommy.

“Cassie hasn’t come back all night.

“She’s only nine. Where could she be hiding?”

Mommy slammed the mop to the floor and ground her teeth as she growled.

“How would I know?”

“You spend all day on that stupid game! You don’t even care when our daughter runs off!”

“I don’t care?”

Daddy stood up abruptly, his voice rising.

“Every time I try to discipline her, who says I don’t do it right?

“Who was it that swapped the dress I bought, and said the older sister should always let the younger one have her way?”

“And you? Have you ever gone to a single-parent-teacher meeting with her? Have you ever washed a single piece of her clothing?”

Their shouting remained chaotic, each trying to prove their own innocence.

Adults were ridiculous, even better at playing dirty than children.

I sat on the chandelier, swinging my legs.

Luckily, I didn’t have to grow up.

“Last year, she had a fever and was in the hospital, and you played games outside the ward for three days!”

“And you? You took Bella to the children’s playground, leaving Cassie all alone in the hospital!”

Every word cut like a knife, yet it was as if they drew some sort of satisfaction from hurting each other.

Mommy suddenly stopped, panting, and looked around the house.

On the living room wall hung Bella’s first birthday photo, the coffee table was strewn with her toys, and even the fridge was plastered with her drawings.

Where were the traces of my existence?

Daddy followed her gaze and gradually went pale.

He opened his mouth, then slumped back onto the sofa, his voice barely audible.

“Have we… have we really not been good to Cassie?”

Yes.

They hadn’t been, for a long time.

Outside the window, the wail of sirens grew faintly, then louder, coming closer.

My parents instinctively moved to the window and looked down.

Mommy’s hand clutched Daddy’s arm tightly, her lips trembling.

“It can’t be, can it?”