Dying To Pay Their Love Debt

My sister and I each had a Kinship Jar.

Inside those jars, we didnt store coins. We stored the love and care we received, a currency that could be traded at the Empyrean Exchange for anything life could offer.

When I was nineteen, my father was involved in a horrific car accident. His body was shattered, a puzzle of broken bone and torn flesh. Once again, our family stood before the glass doors of the Exchange.

I tried to nudge my younger sister, Kayla, forward, but my mothers hand clamped onto her shoulder like a vice. With a sudden, violent jerk, she hauled me toward the counter instead.

"Youve spent your whole life doing nothing for this family while we showered you with love," she hissed, her voice trembling with a terrifying blend of grief and entitlement. "Its time for you to pay us back. Dont you dare tell me youre unwilling."

"Besides," she added, her grip tightening until my skin bruised, "the contents of that jar were given to you by us. Its only right that you return them to save your father."

I was shoved toward the cold marble counter. Beside me, a young womana stranger whose jar was evidently emptysuddenly disintegrated. She didnt just die; she erupted into a silent, macabre firework of crimson and ash.

I wanted to scream, but my throat was frozen. Because, Mom, my jar has been empty for years.

When I was seven, you were dying of cancer. I emptied my jarall the "sacrifices" of your pregnancy and early yearsto buy back your health.

When I was twelve, our brother, Jackson, lost his leg in a street fight. I traded the years of Dads "protection and guidance" to make his flesh and bone knit whole again.

Bits of bone and red mist settled into the corners of the hall. Terrified, I clutched my ceramic jar and ducked behind a fluted pillar, my heart hammering against my ribs. I was certain I was next.

The clerk behind the counter didnt even blink. This was just another Tuesday at the Exchange.

"Her jar was empty," the clerk said, his voice as mechanical as a ticking clock. "You, as her parents, put nothing into it. Naturally, there was nothing to withdraw."

"A child like that," he continued, glancing at the remains of the girl, "is what the system classifies as a 'failure.' Utterly unloved. Therefore, she was liquidated."

The girls parents didnt look sad. They stepped over the pieces of their daughter, cursing her name.

"Empty? How could it be empty?" the father spat. "We raised her! We skimped and saved for her! She must have been a slut, giving all our love away to some boy on the street."

"A total waste of skin," the mother added, wiping a drop of blood off her shoe. "Ungrateful brat. She deserved to pop."

My mother watched them with a sneer of superiority.

"If they had actually given her anything, the jar would have produced," she whispered to Jackson. "Lying snakes. Thank God I actually love my daughters."

Then, her eyes locked onto me. She grabbed my arm and hauled me off the floor. I felt my teeth chatter as the floor grew slick with the other girl's remains.

"Mom, please... I dont want to die. I dont want to go like she did..."

"My jar is empty, too," I sobbed, my voice breaking. "Use Kaylas. Please, use Kaylas jar."

The color drained from my mothers face, replaced by a dark, mottled rage. She pinched the underside of my arm, twisting the skin.

"Grace, are you trying to embarrass me? You want these people to think I don't love you? That I never cared for you?"

"Ive been a stay-at-home mother since the day you were born! I ruined my back carrying you! And now you have the audacity to tell me your jar is empty?"

"You're only saying that because I can't see inside the ceramic. Well, stop lying. The Exchange closes in ten minutes. Save your father. Now."

She dragged me toward the counter. Panic surged through me, primal and raw. In a desperate blur, I sank my teeth into her wrist. She shrieked, and I felt the salt of my own tears flooding my mouth.

"Why is it always me?" I screamed, the words tore from my chest. "Why can't Kayla give something for once? It's always me. It's her turn!"

My mother always spoke of her "sacrifices," of her "undying devotion." But I never understood. If the air in our house was thick with love, why was it only Kaylas jar that ever rattled with the sound of gold?

"God, youre so petty," Kayla said, rolling her eyes as she checked her reflection in her phone screen.

"The stuff in my jar is for my future," she said casually. "Im going to trade it for a modeling contract, for fame, for a face that never ages. You aren't doing anything with your life anyway, Grace. Why are you being so selfish about Dad?"

Jackson stepped forward, his face a mask of disgust. He reached out with one massive hand, grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, and literally threw me onto the counter.

"Mom and Dad worked themselves to the bone for you," he growled. "And you can't do one thing in return? You heartless bitch."

I stared at the clerks fixed, artificial smile. My mind was a loop of the girl who had just exploded. I gripped the edge of the marble counter until my knuckles turned white, looking at my mother with absolute desperation.

"If I pop like that girl did... Mom, if I blow up, will you believe me then? I'm not lying."

"You are lying," she snapped. "Your father and I treated you and Kayla exactly the same. Her jar is overflowing. Why would yours be empty?"

She reached out and forcibly pried my fingers off the counter.

I wanted my father to live. But I didn't want to cease to exist. A sudden thought struck me. I rolled off the counter, clutching my jar to my chest, and bolted for the exit. I ran until my lungs burned.

"Im sorry," the clerks voice echoed through the hall, amplified by the high ceilings. "The Empyrean Exchange is now closed. We will reopen in seventy-two hours."

The look on my mothers face was pure venom. She caught up to me in the parking lot, fist bunching into my hair as she dragged me toward the car.

When she finally finished hitting me, I sat in the dirt, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. I forced a small, obedient smile, looking up at her through swollen eyes.

"Mom... Ill be good. In three days, Ill save Dad. I promise. Just... please dont hit me anymore, okay?"

I told myself she was my mother. She couldn't possibly not love me. If I could just earn even a tiny bit of affection in the next three daysjust one gold coin of genuine careI wouldn't have to die.

And Dad would come home.

Because I hadn't "obeyed" and brought Dad back immediately, my mother spent the entire car ride screaming. When we got home, she forced me to kneel on the cold floor in front of Dads refrigerated casket.

"Stay there," she commanded. "Apologize to him until you mean it."

I knew better than to argue. I was used to the role of the family's living sacrifice.

At dinner time, the smell of garlic butter wafted through the house. Mom was preparing shrimpKaylas favorite. Every time Mom made a "special meal," I would hear the faint clink of a coin hitting the bottom of Kaylas jar. Mom would beam and say, "I do it all for my girls. As long as you're happy and healthy, the work is worth it."

I am severely allergic to shellfish.

I watched them from the hallway, my stomach aching. I wanted that love. I wanted a coin of my own. Once, I had asked her why she never made my favorite meal. She had just shrugged and said she forgot.

"Next time," shed say. "Ill do yours next time."

But next time was a phantom that never arrived.

"Mom?" I whispered, my voice hoarse from crying. "Could I maybe have some roasted potatoes? Just... just one small bowl?"

I looked at her, hoping. If she made them for meif she showed that tiny bit of considerationthe jar might rattle. I could save Dad.

But Mom slammed the colander into the sink with a deafening crack.

"Eat? All you think about is your stomach! You dont deserve to eat. If it weren't for your cowardice, your father wouldn't be sitting in a box of ice right now."

"You've broken this family," she spat. "And you have the nerve to ask me to cook for you? You're dreaming. No dinner for you today. Or tomorrow."

I went back to the casket and knelt in the dark. I watched through the doorway as the three of themMom, Jackson, and Kaylalaughed and ate like a real family.

By midnight, a fever had taken hold of me. My face felt like it was on fire, and my breath came in ragged gasps.

"Mom..." I wheezed as she walked past me toward the kitchen, a paring knife and an apple in her hand.

She didn't even look down.

I reached out and snagged the hem of her robe. "Mom, please... Im burning up. Can you take me to the hospital? Or just... just check on me?"

She frowned, looking at me with annoyance. Before she could speak, Kayla skipped out of her bedroom.

"Mom! Is my apple ready? You promised!"

My mothers face transformed instantly. The hardness vanished, replaced by a soft, doting glow.

"Almost done, sweetie. Don't eat too fast, though. Theres a storm coming tonight, and I don't want you getting a tummy ache from the cold."

Clink.

Kaylas jar sang. She looked over her mothers shoulder at me and flashed a small, triumphant grin.

See? her eyes said. The love is all mine. Again.

In the past, I would have just felt small. But now, with the clock ticking toward my execution, a hot coal of resentment flared in my chest.

"Mom, don't you love me? Why don't you care that I'm sick?"

The question seemed to shock her for a second. Then, her face contorted. She lunged forward and slapped me so hard my head hit the floorboards.

"Grace! How dare you? After everything Ive done? I raised you! I kept you fed and clothed! And you say I don't love you?"

"You're a monster," she cried, covering her face. "An ungrateful, black-hearted monster."

I scrambled to sit up, my head spinning. "But the jar hasn't made a sound in years, Mom! I'm dying of a fever and you won't even"

"Shut up with the jar!" Jacksons voice boomed from the stairs. "You're just jealous of Kayla. If you had just saved Dad like a good daughter, Mom wouldn't be upset. This is your fault. You deserve to feel like crap."

Mom looked at me with a cold, theatrical disappointment, wiping a stray tear.

"Fine. Since you think Im such a 'bad mother,' then I guess Ill be one. From now on, you're on your own. If you think someone else loves you more, go find them. Don't call me Mom anymore."

She began to treat me like a ghost. She didn't speak to me, didn't look at me, and didn't cook for me. Even when I collapsed from the fever, she didn't move. She eventually told Jackson to "dump me at the clinic" so the neighbors wouldn't see a body on the porch.

I refused to believe it. I refused to believe that the woman who gave me life didn't have a single drop of affection left for me.

So, I found a heavy, jagged stone in the garden. I took it into the bathroom and, screaming into a towel, I smashed it against my own forearm until the bone cracked and blood soaked through my shirt.

"Mom!" I sobbed, stumbling into the living room. "Mom, Im hurt! It hurts so much!"

For a heartbeat, I saw it. A flicker of genuine alarm in her eyes.

I saw the golden coin of "Care" materialize in the air, a shimmering phantom hovering above my head, ready to drop into my jar.

"Wait," Kayla said, her voice sharp. "The old man next door lost a bowl of chicken blood today. I saw Grace sneaking around his yard."

She looked at our mother with wide, pitying eyes. "Mom, you work so hard. Why is she trying to trick you with fake blood just to make you feel guilty?"

I panicked. "It's not fake! It's mine! Look at the bone, Mom! I did this because the jar is empty and I need you to care so I can save Dad!"

I thrust my jar into Kaylas hands. "You can see it! Tell her! Tell her its empty!"

My mother turned her gaze toward Kayla.

"Kayla," Mom said, her voice trembling. "You tell me the truth. Is your sister lying, or is that jar really empty?"

"I can't believe I spent twenty years of my life on you," Mom added, looking at me with burgeoning hate. "Only for you to tell me it was all for nothing."

I held my breath, looking at Kayla with a pleading intensity. Kayla blinked, then hugged Moms arm tightly.

"Graces jar is just as full as mine, Mom. I don't know why she's lying. She's just so ungrateful for everything you've done."

The world turned gray. "You're lying..." I whispered.

"Enough!"

Mom stood up, her face a mask of stone. "Im done feeling sorry for you. Since you've decided I've given you nothing, then you have no mother. From now on, you're a stranger in this house."

My arm was still bleeding, the pain throbbing in time with my heartbeat. She didn't care. She wouldn't even look at the wound.

She began to avoid me entirely. When I saw her at the school gates picking up Kayla during a torrential downpour, the teacher asked why she hadn't brought an umbrella for me, too.

Mom just scoffed.

"In her eyes, I don't love her. Why would I waste an umbrella on someone who doesn't appreciate me? Even a stray dog wags its tail when you feed it. Shes lower than that."

I followed them home, walking twenty paces behind, drenched to the bone and shivering.

"Mom, maybe I should share with her?" Kayla asked, stopping and looking back at me with a performative frown.

At that exact moment, a massive oak tree, its roots loosened by the storm, gave way. The wind roared as the trunk began to tilt directly toward us.

I tried to run, but my soaked clothes weighed me down. The branches slammed into my legs, pinning me to the asphalt. Kayla was buried under a heap of smaller branches and leaves.

"Grace, you curse!" Mom screamed, rushing toward the wreckage. "Everything bad that happens is because of you! If Kayla hadn't stopped to pity you, she wouldn't have been hit!"

"Kayla! My baby!"

Mom dove into the leaves.

I didn't even hope she would save me first. I just hoped she wouldn't forget me once Kayla was out.

But she didn't stay. Mom pulled a scratched, crying Kayla from the debris and began to run toward the car, cradling her as if she were made of glass.

"Mom! Please! Don't leave me!" I shrieked, clutching at her ankle as she passed. "My leg... I think it's broken! Help me!"

I looked up at her, begging for a single look of concern. Just one.

She didn't even glance down. She kicked my hand away with a sharp grunt.

"I have to get Kayla to the ER. I'll send someone back for you later."

By the time a bystander called an ambulance and I reached the hospital, Mom was already in the waiting room. When she saw me on the gurney, she didn't rush over. She stood up and snarled.

"Because of you and your 'broken leg,' I was late getting Kayla checked. If her face is scarred, I will never forgive you."

I let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "Is my leg really worth less than a scratch on her face?"

Mom faltered for a second, her lips thinning. She closed her eyes.

"Why do you always have to compete with her? You do nothing for this family. Weve kept you for nineteen years for free. The least you could do is show some grit."

"I just wanted you to love me," I whispered, the fight finally leaving my body. "I just wanted you to care. That's the only way the jar works."

I looked at her, exhausted. "You want me to pay you back? I'm trying. But if I go into that Exchange with an empty jar, I will pop. I will die, Mom. I don't want to die."

Mom rolled her eyes, the empathy completely gone. "Here we go again. How long are you going to keep up this charade? If Id known youd be this much drama, I would have stopped at one child."

I didn't have the strength to explain anymore.

I knew then that the jar would never ring again.

She didn't love me. She didn't believe me. Perhaps she had stopped loving me the very second Kayla was born.

I thought about what the clerk had said. A failure. Liquidation.

Fine. If I was the thing that made this family miserable, then maybe my "liquidation" would finally bring them peace.

During the two days I spent in the hospital with Kayla, her jar was filled to the brim yet again.

She sat at her bedside table, scribbling a shopping list in a notebook.

"So, Grace," she said, tapping her chin with a pen. "Besides Dads life, what else are you going to trade for? Next week is Mom and Jacksons birthday. Youd better have something good."

Jackson leaned against the doorframe, checking his phone. "Ive been eyeing the head cheerleader at the university," he said, not even looking at me. "I want you to trade for her to be 'hopelessly in love' with me. Got that, Grace?"

Mom walked in then, nodding in agreement.

"I don't need much," Mom said. "Just something practical. A solid gold cuff, maybe two hundred grams. And when your father comes back, he'll need a new job. Something executive level. Trade for that, too."

Before I could speak, Kayla piped up.

"Honestly, Grace looks so reluctant. Maybe I should just do it? Ill save Dad and buy the gifts." She sighed dramatically. "Were family, after all. I shouldn't be so stingy."

Mom stroked Kaylas hair, her expression softening.

"I know you have a good heart, honey. But this has to be Grace. She needs to learn what it means to be a daughter. She needs to understand the weight of her debt."

She turned to me, her eyes like chips of ice. "Grace, if you are so selfish that you won't even save your own father, then don't bother coming home. You're dead to us."

I looked up at her.

"So... if I pop like a firework... thats okay with you?"

Mom laughed, a cold, sharp sound. "Then you pop. Whos to blame but you? Your father and I gave you everything. If you're empty, it's because you're a liar who traded our love away for something else behind our backs."

Kayla giggled. "Maybe she has a secret boyfriend? I saw her talking to that boy, Marcus, after school."

Moms face went purple. She didn't even wait for me to explain. She went to the school the next day and withdrew me from my classes.

She screamed at me in the middle of the hallway, in front of everyone.

"School? What for? So you can learn how to lure men? No wonder you're so 'empty,' you've been giving it all away to every boy who looks at you! You're a slut! A pathetic, thirsty little girl!"

Even after Marcus came forward with proof that we had only ever discussed a math project, Mom didn't apologize. She just sat on the porch, cracking sunflower seeds.

"Since you're not in school, get a job. You clearly have a 'rebellion' problem. You need to see how hard life is."

She sent me to work in a hotel kitchen, scrubbing industrial pots. After one morning, my hands were raw, cracked, and bleeding from the lye. I earned thirty dollars.

"Do you understand the struggle now?" she asked when I got home.

I stared at my shaking, stinging hands. "I understand," I whispered.

Jackson sneered. "Is that all? You should be on your knees, thanking Mom for her hard work."

I did it. I knelt on the floor, my voice hollow. "Thank you, Mom. You work so hard."

"Good," she said.

The day the Exchange reopened, Mom did something rare. She made me a glass of warm milk.

But as I held the glass, the jar remained silent. I realized thenshe didn't make the milk because she loved me. She made it because she wanted me to be strong enough to complete the transaction.

I drank it.

When I woke up, I was bound to a chair in the middle of the Empyrean Exchange.

"Save your father first," Mom commanded, her face flushed with excitement. "Then the jewelry and Jacksons girl."

I didn't fight her.

I looked at the clerk. He gave me that same mechanical smile. I reached out and pushed my jar across the marble.

The system began to chime, a high-pitched, digital pulse that echoed in the vast hall.

I turned my head one last time to look at my mother. I saw the greed in her eyes, the joy of a woman about to get everything she wanted.

And then, my body shattered.

I didn't feel pain. I felt a sudden, violent expansion, as if I had become the wind. My blood sprayed across her face, hot and metallic.