The Fragile One

My little sister, Karen, has always been fragile. The doctors called it depression—a delicate glass doll that couldn't withstand the slightest shock.
So my whole life was set to mute.
To avoid upsetting her, I never laughed too loudly or cried too openly. Even when hurt, I wasn’t allowed to make a sound.
Mom and Dad would pull me aside, eyes full of apology. "You're such a good girl, Ava," they’d say. "Karen’s recovery is a family effort. You're the strong one. Can you be more patient?"
That day, I knocked over a glass of water. The crash sent Karen spiraling.
For the first time, my father hit me. "Can’t you be more careful?" he yelled. "Are you trying to push her over the edge?"
He shoved me. My head struck the corner of the coffee table. Warm blood trickled down.
But everyone rushed to a screaming Karen. No one looked at me.
I lay on the cold floor, my vision blurring.
They thought Karen’s feelings mattered most. That my head injury could wait.
They didn’t know a brain bleed waits for no one.

1
The floorboards were cold against my cheek. A dull, throbbing ache pulsed from the back of my skull. I could feel something warm and sticky trickling down my neck, pooling into a dark crimson puddle on the polished wood.
"Can't you be more careful? Are you trying to push her over the edge?" Dad's voice echoed in my ears, a painful ringing that made the bleeding feel worse.
On the couch, Karen was curled into a tight ball, her hands clamped over her ears, letting out a series of ear-splitting shrieks.
"She did it on purpose! She's trying to kill me! Get her away from me! Get her away!"
Mom knelt before her, stroking her back and murmuring soft reassurances. "It's okay, baby, it's okay. Mommy's here. The bad sister is gone now."
I tried to push myself up, but a wave of dizziness slammed me back down. Darkness crept in from the edges of my vision, swallowing the world piece by piece.
"Dad… Mom…" My voice was a faint whisper, lost in the chaos.
No one looked back.
My sight grew fuzzy, and scenes from the past began to flicker in my mind.
I remembered racing home with my first straight-A report card, my heart soaring.
"Mom, I got—" I burst through the door, the words catching in my throat.
Mom snatched the report card from my hand and quickly shoved it into a drawer. "Ava, don't let your sister see that."
Her voice was a tense hiss. "You know how she gets. Seeing you succeed… it's a trigger for her."
I stood frozen in the doorway, the triumphant smile still plastered on my face. "But Mom, it's my first time getting all A's!" My voice trembled. "My teacher said I could apply for the early admission program…"
"You're the understanding one," she said, stroking my hair, her eyes filled with that familiar guilt. "Karen's recovery is a family effort. You're the healthy one, the strong one. Can you just let her have this?"
I nodded, retreated to my room, and swallowed the bitter pill of disappointment.
The pool of blood on the floor was growing.
My breathing became shallow, ragged. White spots danced before my eyes.
"Mom, it hurts!" I gasped, stretching a hand out.
She finally turned, her brow furrowed in annoyance. "Ava, stop making a scene. Can't you see your sister is having an episode? We'll deal with you later."
Karen’s screams intensified. "Get her out! Get her out of here!" She grabbed a glass from the coffee table and hurled it against the wall, sending shards of glass flying.
Dad rushed to her side, scooping her into a protective embrace. "Shhh, my sweet star, Daddy's here. It's okay." His voice was impossibly gentle. "Daddy sent the bad sister away. No one's going to hurt you."
My fingers scraped weakly against the floor, leaving a thin, bloody smear.
I remembered last month, when a group of girls cornered me in a bathroom stall. They poured toilet water over my head and drew ugly things on my face with lipstick.
"Freak! Nerd!" their laughter echoed off the tiled walls. "You're just as crazy as your psycho sister!"
When I got home, Mom wrinkled her nose. "What's that smell? Go take a shower, quickly. Karen is sensitive to odors."
I hid in my room and cried for hours. But when Mom knocked and asked what was wrong, I wiped my tears and said, "Nothing."
I knew that if I told them I was being bullied, the "family discord" would trigger another one of Karen's breakdowns.
"Karen cannot be exposed to any form of stress, or her life could be at risk!" The doctor's words were a curse laid upon our house.
The darkness was closing in.
I heard Dad on the phone. "…Yes, Karen’s had another episode. Okay, we'll bring her to the hospital right away."
Hurried footsteps rushed past me. No one stopped to wonder why I was so quiet.
"Ava, go get Karen's medication!" Mom commanded, not even bothering to look at me.
I tried to answer, but my lips wouldn't move.
"God, she's still putting on an act," Dad muttered in disgust. "Let's see how long she keeps it up."
My last conscious thought was of the art studio. I remembered packing up my paints and brushes, locking them away in a storage locker.
"Why are you quitting?" my art teacher had asked, shocked. "You're my most talented student!"
"The smell of the turpentine gives my sister headaches," I mumbled, staring at the floor, unable to meet his disappointed gaze. "The doctor said… she needs a quiet environment."
Now, all those locked-away dreams were dying, right here on the floor, with me.
The wail of an ambulance grew closer.
I heard Mom cry out, "Karen! Hold on, baby! The doctors are almost here!"
A clatter of footsteps, and the front door was thrown open, scattering some of the cloying smell of blood.
"Where's the patient?" a man's voice asked.
"Here! Quick! My daughter can't take it anymore!" Dad answered urgently.
Please, I begged the universe, let someone look down. Let them see another daughter, bleeding out, waiting to be saved.
The paramedics walked straight to the couch, carefully lifting my thrashing sister onto a gurney.
No one noticed the girl dying in the corner.
"…a patient with a head injury can't wait…" That was the last thing I heard before my world dissolved into absolute black.
I floated above my own body, watching the scene unfold. It was strange. I thought dying would be agonizing, but instead, I just felt… light.
My body was still there, the blood at the back of my head now dark and congealed, my face a waxy, pale white. The apartment was a whirlwind of motion. Dad flanked the paramedics, hovering protectively over the still-screaming Karen as they rushed out the door. Mom followed close behind, clutching a bottle of pills.
No one spared a final glance for the daughter they’d left behind.
"Hurry! The ambulance is waiting!" Dad's voice was sharp with panic.
Mom suddenly paused at the doorway, looking back. "What about Ava?"
"Forget about her! Karen is what matters!" Dad yelled, already halfway down the stairs with his precious cargo.
Mom hesitated for a fraction of a second, then ran after them.
The door slammed shut, the force of it knocking our family portrait off the wall. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the now-empty apartment. In the photo, Karen stood in the center, Mom and Dad on either side, their arms around her, all of them beaming. I was off to the very edge, an awkward afterthought who looked like I’d stumbled into the frame by accident.
I drifted to the window and watched the ambulance pull away, its blue and red lights flashing silently.
They hadn't even realized I was dead.
My phone started ringing in the bedroom. I floated through the wall and saw the screen light up: Mr. Davis. My homeroom teacher. It went to voicemail. "Hello, this is Mr. Davis. Ava wasn't in school today and wasn't marked absent. Is she sick? Please give me a call back as soon as you can."
Sunlight streamed through the curtains, illuminating the neat stack of textbooks on my desk. I had planned to buy a new art book after school. I wouldn't be needing it now.
My spirit was pulled, against my will, in the direction of my family.
In the emergency room, Karen was given a sedative and finally fell quiet. A doctor was examining her, his brow furrowed.
"She's just shaken up. Nothing serious," he said, removing his stethoscope. "A little rest and she'll be fine."
"Oh, thank God!" Mom collapsed into a chair, burying her face in her hands and sobbing with relief.
Dad wrapped an arm around her. "It's okay. It's over. Karen's going to be fine."
I stood right in front of them, wanting to scream. Look at me! I'm dead! Your other daughter is dead!
But my voice couldn't cross the veil.
A nurse came in with a clipboard. "Would you like to have her admitted for observation?"
"Absolutely," Dad said, jumping to his feet. "She needs the best care."
The nurse made a note. "Patient's name is Karen, correct?"
"Yes, she…"
"And what about the other patient?" the nurse asked suddenly. "The paramedics mentioned there was another young woman injured at the scene?"
Mom and Dad exchanged a puzzled look.
"Oh, you mean Ava?" Mom waved a dismissive hand. "She's fine. She just took a little tumble. She's probably resting at home."
The nurse nodded and left.
I closed my eyes in agony. They hadn't even found my body. They didn’t know I’d stopped breathing hours ago.
Karen stirred in the hospital bed, letting out a soft moan. Mom was at her side in an instant. "Baby, what's wrong? Tell Mommy where it hurts."
"My sister," Karen whispered weakly. "My sister tried to hurt me."
"Don't be scared. Mommy won't let her hurt you," Mom soothed, stroking her hair with a tenderness I hadn't felt in years. "She just knocked over a glass, sweetie. It was an accident."
"No!" Karen's eyes flew open, suddenly agitated. "It wasn't an accident! She hates me! She's always calling me a burden, a curse on this family! She said she was going to kill me one day!"
Her breathing hitched, and the numbers on the heart monitor began to spike. Doctors and nurses rushed back into the room, and the chaos began all over again.
I drifted into a corner, a silent spectator to the familiar drama. All my life, whenever Karen said, "My sister hates me," my parents would turn on me with accusing eyes, as if I were some kind of monster.
"Karen said you hid her favorite doll."
"Karen said you woke her up in the middle of the night on purpose."
"Karen said you put something in her water!"
Even now, with me dead and gone, they still believed her every word.
Dad's cell phone rang. He stepped out into the hallway to answer it. "Hello? Oh, Detective Miller. What?!"
The color drained from his face.
"No! That's impossible!" His voice cracked. "Are you sure it was… our Ava?"
I could almost hear the cold, dispassionate voice on the other end of the line. "Preliminary findings indicate the deceased is a 16-year-old female with a fatal wound to the back of the head. She's been dead for at least three hours. We've confirmed her identity. The victim is your eldest daughter, Ava."

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