Mom and Dad, I Don’t Want the Family Photo

I was born with no immunity, a bubble girl confined to a sterile room. My parents visited only in hazmat suits, and our home was ruled by a pathological fear of contamination.

When my healthy twin, Rose, wished for a kitten on her fifth birthday, my parents erupted. A cat could kill your sister! my father roared. They sanitized everything until Rose, sobbing, swore shed never want a cat again.

My needs were absolutemy every wish was their command.

Yet on my eighth birthday, when Rose showed me a family photo taken without me, I simply whispered that I wanted one too.

My father snatched the photo and tore it apart. "All this money, every day, just to keep you aliveand you cry over a photo?"

Behind her mask, my mother screamed, "Lydia, how can you be so cruel? How could you even be in a picture?" Then, her final blow: "You want a picture? Maybe when you're dead. Then you can have all you want."

They stormed out. I was left breathless, a crushing weight on my chestair never felt so thin.

With trembling legs, I knelt and began to gather the scattered pieces of the photo.

Thats when I smelled it. A faint, alien scent slithering into my sterile world.

My breath hitched. I looked toward the intake vent of the air filtration unit. A thin grate covered the opening.

And there, wedged between the grate and its housing, was a tiny corner of a photograph, trembling with the flow of air.

My heart began to hammer against my ribs.

I crept closer, stood on my tiptoes, and stretched my arm, my fingers straining for the paper.

The grate was too high. I couldn't reach it.

Broken.

Something was broken.

I knew what it meant. My body knew, too.

The room began to spin. A dull ache bloomed in my chest, and a coppery, sweet taste rose in the back of my throat. I stumbled to my bed and sat, trying to calm the violent shaking in my hands.

I was afraid to press the call button.

The last time Id used it was three months ago, for a blocked IV line.

My mother had rushed in, her face etched with exhaustion. Lydia, shed sighed, you need to be more considerate. Your sister has a fever.

But this was different. I wasnt trying to make trouble. The machine was broken. The air was poisoned.

Still, I hesitated.

I was terrified of the impatience in her voice, of hearing her say, What is it now?

I dragged a chair over, climbed onto it, and wobbled as I reached up again.

A wave of sharp dizziness washed over me. I pressed a hand against the wall to steady myself, gasping for air. Black spots danced at the edge of my vision, and a loud ringing filled my ears.

I couldnt do it.

I scrambled down from the chair, my finger hovering over the green call button.

Then I pressed it.

The bell chimed three times before she answered.

Lydia?

It was Mom. In the background, I could hear upbeat music and Roses happy laughter.

I tried to speak, to tell her the filtration unit was broken, that outside air was getting in. But my throat was closing up. All that came out were ragged, desperate gasps.

Are you crying? Moms voice hardened. Lydia, Im with Rose, were retaking her photos. Youve been difficult enough today. Stop throwing a tantrum!

Gasp gasp No not a tantrum

I shook my head violently, a useless gesture she couldnt see.

Her voice was tight with suppressed frustration. Fine. I know youre upset. Just be quiet for a little while. Ill call you back later.

The line went dead.

The itching on my skin was turning into a burning sensation. I coughed, a wet, rattling sound, and stared at the bright crimson dot blooming in my palm.

I pressed the call button again.

She picked up on the first ring, her voice exploding through the speaker.

Lydia! What the hell do you want! I told you, were taking pictures!

I opened my mouth, but only a dry, rasping hiss escaped.

Cant you just let your sister be happy for once? Her voice was sharp, brittle with exhaustion. You cant be in the pictures! How many times do I have to tell you? Can you please just be considerate for once? Can you give your mother one moment of peace?

Beep.

The dial tone droned on and on. I slowly reached out and pressed the button to end the call.

I didnt want to make Mom unhappy anymore.

Maybe if I wasnt here, she would always be happy.

The room fell silent.

My vision blurred. A deep, penetrating cold was spreading through my fingers.

I looked down at the photo fragments scattered on the floor.

My parents faces, torn into pieces. Rose, smiling between them, also shattered.

I knelt again, gathering the pieces, my fingers numb and clumsy. I tried to fit my fathers brow with my mothers eyes.

If I had been healthy, would our family photo have looked like this?

They were incomplete without me, I thought. But they were happy without me.

The cold of the floor seeped into my bones. Clutching the torn pieces of my family, I crawled onto my bed.

I was floating.

I passed through the wall and into the living room. The front door clicked open, and they were home. For the first time, I saw my mother without her protective suit.

She was holding up a gold-rimmed certificate, her face lit with a smile so bright it had no shadows.

Our little Rose is so smart! First in her class!

My father took the certificate, a proud grin spreading across his face. They looked so different from the photos, so much happier without the bulky suits.

Rose suddenly stopped. I want to show Lydia my new doll. She held it up. Ill disinfect it really well.

Moms smile flickered, but she quickly forced it back. Thats very thoughtful of you, sweetie. She stroked Roses hair. But your sisters not in a good mood today. She probably cried herself to sleep.

Roses lip trembled. Is it because I showed her the family picture? Im sorry.

Dad ruffled her hair. Its not your fault. Your sister is just very fragile. It has nothing to do with you, Rose.

I stood right in front of him, trying to explain. No, Dad, it wasnt that. The machine broke, I couldnt fix it. And I didnt cry.

He couldnt hear me. He walked right through me, leading Rose away.

I have to apologize to her, Rose insisted, pulling away and running to the intercom that connected to my room.

Lydia! Im sorry! Her voice echoed into the silent space. Do you want to play with my doll later?

The me on the bed, of course, didnt answer.

Rose waited a moment, then pressed the button again. Lydia? Are you still mad?

My soul curled into a tight ball. I wanted to scream, to tell her, Im not mad, Rose. I could never be mad at you. Im just gone.

My mothers voice came through the intercom next, edged with clear annoyance. Lydia, this is the first toy weve ever bought for your sister. Cant you play along for just a minute?

Okay, Mom. I will.

Though I knew they couldnt see me, I reached out and ghosted my fingers over the doll, then wrapped my arms around my little sister in a spectral hug.

Thank you, Rose. The doll is beautiful.

All these years, Rose had never had a proper toy. All the money, all the energy, all the attention had been poured into me. I was so sorry.

But now, seeing the pure joy on her face as she held her first gift it made me happy. From now on, youll have so many dolls, Rose.

I did as Mom asked, then looked up at her, hoping for her approval.

She just sighed, her voice heavy with weariness and disappointment. Forget it. Shes just trying to get attention this way. If we ignore her, shell stop.

Dads face hardened. I think weve spoiled her rotten! He stomped over and started pressing the call button repeatedly. Lydia, are you mute? Answer me! Who taught you to give people the silent treatment when youre angry?

Rose held her doll up to block him. Daddy, dont be mean to Lydia.

Mom pulled his hand away from the button. Thats enough. She was crying very hard earlier. Shes probably exhausted. Let her rest.

She took the doll from Roses hands. Youre such a good girl, Rose. In a little while, well sterilize the doll and put it in the transfer hatch. If your sister wants to play with it, she can get it herself.

Dad fell silent, turning away to sullenly start cleaning the house.

I looked at the little doll sitting in the transfer hatch. What a shame. Id never get to play with my sister.

Rose held up her certificate, asking where to put it. Mom took it and consulted with Dad. Seeing the words First Place filled me with a quiet pride.

The moment the certificate was taped to the living room wall, I spoke in unison with my parents.

Our Rose is amazing!

That evening, Mom took a photo album from a drawer. Rose snuggled up next to her on the sofa.

What are we doing, Mommy?

Mom opened the album, revealing a few solo pictures of me.

We took an incomplete family photo today, she said softly, her finger tracing the empty space on the new photograph. Now, were going to put your sister in.

My heart, or what was left of it, gave a little flutter.

Mom picked up a pair of scissors, but her hand trembled, hesitating over my picture.

Mommy? Rose whispered.

Im just thinking Her voice was thick with unshed tears. How how do I cut her out so it looks like she was really with us?

I looked at that empty space in the photo and felt a pang of sorrow.

Its too late, Mom. Im already gone. No matter how many pictures you cut up, you cant piece together a living daughter.

You and Lydia are twins, Rose. She was supposed to be just like you Her voice broke completely. But she got so sick, and she could never leave that room. We knew she wouldnt even be with us for many years. Her words dissolved into sobs. She could never, ever be in a family photo with us. So please, Rose, dont be angry that Daddy and I are always thinking about her.

Roses eyes were wide and red-rimmed. She reached out a tiny hand to wipe away her mothers tears.

Why would I be angry about that? she said, her voice small but clear. Im always thinking about Lydia too, Mommy! I worry about her every day at school because shes always sick. I want Lydia to be with us forever.

Mom pulled Rose into a tight hug, burying her face in her daughters small shoulder. After a long moment, she pulled back and managed a watery smile.

She picked up the scissors again, her hand steady this time. Rose took a pair of safety scissors and joined her. Together, they worked. Rose carefully positioned the cutout of me in the empty space on the family photo. She was so gentle, as if she were afraid of hurting the paper version of me.

Like this, Mommy? she asked, looking up.

Mom took it, making tiny adjustments, angling my cutout so I fit perfectly in the gap. It looked like I was really there, standing between them, perhaps turning my head to listen to something Dad was saying.

Rose held her breath, then let out a tiny wow.

Look, Mommy! Now its a real family photo!

Mom stared at the picture for a long time, her expression unreadable. Then she carried the patched-together photograph to the door of my sterile room, Rose trailing behind her.

They stopped at the transfer hatch.

Mom knelt, placed the photo carefully on the sterilized tray, and pushed it through the small opening.

Lydia, your sister and I made a family photo for you. See? Youre right in the middle. She paused, her voice softer now. Im sorry I was so harsh today, honey. I didnt mean to yell at you. Its just sometimes I get so tired.

Rose leaned toward the intercom. Do you like it, Lydia? I cut it out really carefully, I didnt mess up at all!

They waited for a response that would never come.

After a moment, Mom sighed. Shes probably asleep. Well check on her tomorrow.

They turned to leave. Mom walked slowly, glancing back over and over.

Rose held her hand. Will she be happy, Mommy?

Her mothers voice floated back, thin and hopeful. Yes. Shell be very happy.

And she was right. I was happy.

I was happy to finally have a family photo that looked complete. I wasnt the monster who could never fit into their lives.

I floated to the transfer hatch and looked at the photograph on the tray. In the dim light, the seams were almost invisible.

We looked like a real, happy family. Dads hand seemed to rest on my shoulder, Mom was leaning her head toward me, and Rose was grinning from ear to ear.

The photograph lay there silently, in the shadows of the hatch, waiting for someone who would never come to claim it.