Everyone in our family could see the glowing countdown timer hovering above my older sister’s head. They all knew she was destined to die on her sixteenth birthday. Because of this, my sister became the most precious, fragile thing in our house. The best snacks were hers. The prettiest dresses were hers. Even our parents’ bedtime stories belonged exclusively to her. I ached for her, but I also bitterly envied the absolute favoritism she received. Until the day I finally suffered through to her sixteenth birthday. Terrified that I would throw a tantrum and ruin her final day, my parents locked me in the dusty storage closet. I was burning up with a high fever. I banged weakly on the door, terrified. "Mom, let me out... I have a fever. My head hurts so much..." But Mom just gritted her teeth on the other side. "Enough! Your sister is going to die after today! Can't you just hold it in for once?" "But it hurts..." Gradually, the footsteps outside faded away, and my consciousness began to blur... 1. My body suddenly felt incredibly light. I drifted right through the old, scratched wooden door and saw the warm, golden light of the living room. My parents were sitting tightly on either side of my sister on the sofa. Mom was gently rubbing her back, while Dad kept his head down, his shoulders shaking slightly. My sister, Stella, was wearing her brand-new dress—the only new piece of clothing bought this year. It was a pale blue, embroidered with tiny, delicate stars. Under the living room lights, her face looked exceptionally pale, her lips completely devoid of color. "Mom, Dad... is Chloe really okay?" Stella's voice was soft, thick with a congested sniffle. "I heard her crying that her head hurt..." "Don't worry about her." Mom chimed in quickly, reaching out to cup Stella's cheek with heartbreaking tenderness, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. "She doesn't have a fever. She's just faking it for attention. You only have one day left to..." Mom couldn't finish the sentence. She choked on a sob, her eyes turning red. "Just focus on your birthday tomorrow. Don't let her ruin your mood." Stella pressed her lips together and didn't say anything else, but the furrow in her brow deepened. I knew she always felt guilty when it came to me. For as long as I could remember, every ounce of love and preference in this house had been piled onto her. I had to watch from the sidelines just to get a warm bowl of soup, let alone new clothes or toys. But Stella would always sneak her snacks into my pockets. She would alter the new dresses our parents bought her so they would fit me. Whenever Mom and Dad scolded me, she was always the first one to stand in front of me and shield me. She always said, "Chloe, I'm so sorry. It's because of me that you're always getting the short end of the stick." But our parents didn't see it that way. Mom sighed, looking at Stella with overwhelming pity. "Stop defending her. Ever since she was old enough to understand, that girl has been jealous of you. She can't stand to see you happy." "Did you forget what happened on your fourteenth birthday?" Stella's fourteenth birthday was the first time I truly comprehended that my sister was going to die. That day, my parents actually went out and bought a beautiful buttercream cake, placing fourteen thin candles on top. Mom carefully lit the candles, while Dad held up his battered old digital camera, desperate to capture one of the very few birthdays his eldest daughter had left. I hid behind the door frame, watching the candlelight flicker across Stella's face. I watched her close her eyes to make a wish, and I watched the unshed tears gleaming in my parents' eyes. Then, I charged out. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe it was jealousy. Maybe it was the absolute, crushing inability to accept that the sister who was always so gentle to me was going to leave forever. I shoved the table. The cake flipped over, splattering frosting all over the hardwood. The candles rolled into the corner and quickly extinguished. "I don't want to see you celebrate her birthday!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, acting exactly like the obnoxious, hateful brat they always thought I was. I still remember the way my parents looked at me in that moment. When Dad's heavy hand struck across my face, I didn't dodge. One slap. Two. Three... Mom just stood to the side, sobbing, but she didn't try to stop him. It was Stella who threw herself over me, using her frail, thin body to shield me from the blows. "Stop hitting her, Dad! Please stop!" Her voice was trembling violently, but she held me incredibly tight. "It's my fault. It's all my fault..." That night, Stella snuck into my room and pressed a half-eaten piece of candy into my palm. There was a stark red scratch on her wrist where she had hit the edge of a chair while protecting me. "Chloe, I'm sorry." She whispered, her fingers feather-light against my swollen, bruised cheek. "I'm going away very soon. After I'm gone... nobody will fight you for anything ever again." Back in the living room, Mom lovingly stroked Stella's face. "Stella, just ignore her." Mom's voice was heavy with exhaustion. "That child has been jealous of you since the day she learned to walk. You know this." I hovered in the air, stunned. It was true. I was jealous of my sister. I was jealous that she had all the love. I was jealous of her new dresses. I was jealous that when she got sick, Mom would stay awake by her bedside all night. I was jealous that even with only twenty-four hours left to live, she was still the absolute center of our parents' universe. I drifted toward Stella, trying to grab her hand. I wanted to tell her that I really did have a fever. I wanted to tell her that my head hurt so badly it felt like it was splitting open. But my hand passed right through her arm, like sweeping through a cloud of morning mist. I froze in mid-air, staring blankly at my own translucent fingers. Slowly, I turned around and looked back at the heavy wooden door of the storage closet. A faint sliver of light was bleeding out from beneath the crack. I drifted over, phasing effortlessly through the solid wood. Inside, curled up in a tiny ball amidst piles of old cardboard boxes, was my body. I was already dead. Before my sister's countdown timer could reach zero, my own expiration date had arrived first. 2. Memories flooded my mind like a rising tide, carrying the scent of old dust. When I was much younger, around five or six, there were times when I genuinely hated my sister. If there was only one piece of candy in the house, it was Stella's. If there was only one apple, it would be cut in two. The large half went to Stella. The small sliver went to me. New clothes were always bought for Stella first. I wore her hand-me-downs, patched over and over again. Even the bedtime stories belonged to her. Mom's voice was so incredibly soothing. she would read The Little Prince, or Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tales—stories about stars, moons, and magical worlds. But she only ever read those stories to Stella. I would secretly crouch outside the cracked bedroom door, listening as Mom whispered, "Stella, what do you want to hear tonight?" "I want to hear The Little Mermaid," Stella would say. And Mom would begin to read, her voice flowing like a gentle stream in the night. I would sit in the dark hallway, hugging my knees tight against my chest, listening to those beautiful sentences while my heart squeezed painfully. Why couldn't she read them to me, too? During the summer I turned seven, a neighbor brought over a whole roasted chicken. Mom carved it up, placing the two golden, crispy drumsticks right on top of the serving platter. At the dinner table, Mom carefully picked up both drumsticks and placed them onto Stella's plate. "Eat up, Stella. You need to build your strength." I looked down at my own plate, which held nothing but plain white rice and some boiled green beans. The tears suddenly spilled over. "Why does she get both drumsticks?!" "I want some! I want a drumstick too!" Dad slammed his fork violently onto the table. "Chloe Harper! Why are you always so selfish?!" He shot up from his chair, his face dark with fury. "Do you not know your sister is sick?! Do you not know that she..." He couldn't finish the sentence. I didn't know. All I knew was that Stella was always very pale. Sometimes she coughed a lot, and Mom and Dad always looked at her with eyes full of unbearable grief. But I had no idea what it actually meant. "It's not fair! Why does she get everything?!" I sobbed, jumping down from my chair and pointing a shaking finger at Stella across the table. "Why don't you just die?! Give me my stuff back!" Stella's tears instantly spilled over, huge, heavy drops splashing into her dinner bowl. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Mom abruptly stood up and delivered a stinging slap across my face. It was the hardest I had ever been hit. Stella lunged forward to protect me, but Mom held her back. "Let her learn her lesson! Let her learn what words she can and cannot say in this house!" The very next day, I was hiding near the kitchen when I overheard my parents whispering. "Only nine years left." Mom's voice was choked with sobs. "I know." Dad's voice was raw and hoarse. "Nine years... we only have nine years left with her..." That was the moment I finally understood. Stella was actually going to die. That invisible, floating string of numbers above her head—the ones no one else outside the family could see—was a countdown to the end of her life. Back in the living room, my parents, with red, swollen eyes, carefully escorted Stella back to her bedroom to rest. Watching them, my chest suddenly felt incredibly tight and sour. "Should we... maybe we should let Chloe out now." Dad suggested softly. Mom was quiet for a long time. "Let her stay in there a little longer." Mom finally spoke, her voice so utterly exhausted it sounded like she had been drained of her life force. "At least... at least let Stella have one perfect, peaceful birthday. Just for today. It's her very last day." I watched as Mom raised a hand to wipe her eyes. "Chloe will understand when she's older." She sounded like she was desperately trying to convince herself. "Once Stella is gone... we'll make it up to her. I promise we will make it up to her." Dad didn't argue. He just walked into the kitchen, grabbed a small dinner roll from the pantry, and walked slowly toward the storage closet. 3. "Chloe." He spoke softly to the closed door. "Dad brought you some bread. Eat a little something. Don't starve yourself." I drifted over and crouched down to look at him. His eyes were bloodshot. The wrinkles around his eyes seemed so much deeper than they did last year, and there was a dusting of gray at his temples. He was only forty years old, but he looked like a man in his fifties. "Dad, I'm right here. I'm dead. Will you please open the door and look at me?" "Chloe?" He called out again. I reached out to touch his cheek, but my fingers phased right through him. "Sigh." Dad let out a heavy breath and stood up, looking disappointed. "This kid... she's still throwing a tantrum." He nudged the dinner roll a little closer to the crack under the door. "Just stay in there and behave. Stop causing trouble. Once your sister is gone... Dad promises he will make everything up to you." He never realized I was there. I watched his retreating back and whispered, "It's okay, Dad. You don't have to make it up to me anymore." You will never have the chance to. After Dad left, the hallway fell back into heavy silence. A faint rustling came from the living room. Mom stepped out of Stella's room, gently pulled the door shut behind her, and stood in the hallway, staring blankly into space. She looked at the door to the storage closet. Her lips were pressed tightly together, a clear look of internal struggle on her face. Finally, she walked over and crouched down in the exact spot Dad had just been. "Chloe." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Please don't be mad at Mom, okay?" "Mom knows it's not fair to you." She continued, her fingers absentmindedly picking at a splinter on the door frame. "But your sister only has one day left. Can't you just let her have this? Let her leave us with a smile on her face, please?" I drifted right in front of her. I could see the moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes. She quickly wiped it away, moving fast, as if terrified someone might catch her crying for me. "Once your sister is gone, Mom will make your favorite pot roast. A massive plate, all just for you." Her voice grew softer and softer, eventually turning into a frantic, desperate murmur. "I'll buy you new dresses. The ones with the pretty lace ribbons you always stare at in the store windows. I'll take you to the amusement park. We'll ride the carousel, and the roller coasters... You told me all the kids in your class have been except you, right?" The tears finally spilled over, splashing onto the faded linoleum floor of the hallway, leaving tiny, dark stains. "Mom promises you. I promise you everything... So please, just for today. Just for this one day, stop fighting me, okay?" I reached out, desperately wanting to wipe her tears away. She waited in silence for a few minutes. From inside the closet, there was no sound. The sorrow on Mom's face slowly began to curdle into irritation. She abruptly stood up, stumbling slightly because she moved too fast. "This child... she is just so incredibly selfish!" She muttered bitterly, though her voice still carried a thick trace of a sob. "She has absolutely no empathy for her parents! I wasted my life raising you!" She spun around and walked briskly away, her posture rigid with anger. Evening approached, and the sky began to darken. Mom walked out of the kitchen carrying a small basket filled with crepe paper, scissors, and a "Happy Birthday" banner. She was getting ready to decorate for Stella's final celebration. Just as she reached the living room, the doorbell rang. It was Grandma Eleanor. Grandma stood on the porch holding a bulging canvas tote bag. When she saw Mom, she forced a strained, exhausted smile. "Mom, what are you doing here?" Mom looked surprised, quickly stepping aside to let her in. "I came to see Stella." Grandma's voice was hoarse. She set the heavy tote bag on the dining table and began pulling out fresh apples and bakery pastries. "Tomorrow is the child's birthday. I... I had to come see her." "Stella is resting in her room right now." Mom said, taking the items from Grandma's hands. "Please, sit down. I'll go wake her up." "No, no, let her sleep." Grandma sat heavily on the sofa. Her sharp eyes swept across the living room, and her brow furrowed slightly. "Where's Chloe? Why don't I see Chloe?" 4. Mom's face instantly went pale. "She... she's in her room doing homework." Mom avoided Grandma's piercing gaze, looking down and nervously organizing the decorations in her basket. Grandma didn't say a word. She just stared at her. "Homework?" "Let me go check on her." "Mom!" Mom jumped up in a panic. "Chloe is... she's throwing a tantrum. I put her in the storage closet for a time-out so she can reflect on her behavior." Grandma froze completely. "What did you just say?" She asked, enunciating every single syllable. "You locked Chloe in the storage closet?!" "You know tomorrow is Stella's..." Mom's voice shrank until it was practically inaudible. The color drained from Grandma's face, replaced by a dark, terrifying fury. She stood up so fast she swayed on her feet. Mom reached out to steady her, but Grandma violently shoved her hand away. "Sarah Harper!" Grandma's voice shook with rage. "Chloe is your daughter too!" Mom opened her mouth to argue, but Grandma cut her off effortlessly. "Yes, I know Stella drew a tragic hand in life! I know she was born with that cursed countdown timer over her head! I know you both love her to death and want to give her the absolute best so she can pass away happy!" Grandma's voice rose to a shout, tears pooling in her weathered eyes. "But what about Chloe?! Has her life not been tragic too?! From the day she was born, what has she ever actually received?! Stella's discarded, worn-out clothes! Stella's leftovers! Even her parents' love had to be sacrificed so Stella could have it all!" "Mom, I didn't..." Mom tried to defend herself, but her voice was weak and hollow. "Both of them are good girls. They are both such wonderful, sweet girls..." Grandma choked on a sob. "But you two? As parents? Do you not realize the massive, unforgivable debt you owe Chloe?! Does she not deserve even a fraction of your love?!" Mom collapsed into a dining chair, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking violently. "And now, you won't even let the two sisters see each other one last time?" Grandma's voice was raw and hoarse. "Stella is going to... she's going to leave us tomorrow. Chloe is her only sister! She is the little sister Stella spent her entire life trying to protect! How is Stella supposed to cross over peacefully?! Are you going to force her to die with regrets?!" "I... I didn't..." Mom's broken sobs leaked through her fingers. "I just wanted Stella to be happy for her last 24 hours. I didn't want Chloe to throw a fit and ruin it for her..." The night grew deep. The door to Stella's bedroom remained tightly shut. "Go to bed." Grandma finally said, her voice exhausted and raspy. "Tomorrow... we have to be up early tomorrow." Mom shifted in her chair, looking like she wanted to say something, but eventually just shook her head. "I can't sleep." Dad hadn't moved from the armchair in the corner. Grandma sighed. She didn't try to persuade them anymore. She stood up, walked over to the door of the storage closet, crouched down, and whispered gently into the crack beneath the door: "Chloe, Grandma is right here with you. Don't be afraid." My tears fell all over again. The minutes ticked by. The candles in the living room burned down to nothing, plunging the house into darkness. Outside the window, the sky slowly began to lighten, shifting from pitch black, to deep indigo, to a pale, misty gray. The very first ray of morning sunlight pierced the glass, landing on the scuffed hardwood floor, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Grandma stood up and walked to Stella's bedroom door. She raised her hand to knock, but her fist hovered in mid-air. She hesitated for a long time. Finally, she said softly: "Stella. It's time to wake up." A faint rustling sound came from inside the room. The door slowly creaked open. "Grandma, Mom, Dad," Stella said softly, a faint, tired smile on her lips. Mom practically launched herself out of her chair, sprinting across the room and crushing Stella in a desperate, suffocating hug, as if trying to fuse their bodies together. Dad walked over, his hands trembling violently, and gently stroked the top of Stella's head. "Stella..." Mom's voice was completely shattered. "I'm okay, Mom." Stella said gently, patting Mom's back. "I'm really okay." Grandma stood to the side, watching quietly. She looked at Stella for a long time. Then, realizing something, she whipped her head around to look at the storage closet. "Chloe!" Her voice cut sharply through the quiet morning air. "Quick! Let Chloe out!" My parents finally remembered me, locked away in the dark. They broke into relieved, tearful laughter, nodding frantically. "Yes, yes, of course! Let Chloe out! Chloe is still in the closet!" "Your sister survived! This is a miracle!" Mom grabbed Stella's hand, and Dad led the way. The family of three rushed toward the storage closet, their faces glowing with absolute joy. But as Dad grabbed the handle and pushed the door open, the color instantly drained from his face. He violently yanked his hand back as if he had been burned, muttering in horror: "Something's wrong. Something is wrong!"
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