I Saved My Sister, So They Drowned Me Chapter 01
The day Lily was diagnosed with depression, Dad drove back from out of town overnight.
The year I was hospitalized and had surgery, he never came home once.
Whatever Lily wanted to eat, he would go out and buy it.
Even if it was the middle of the night.
When Lily became afraid of sunlight, he replaced every curtain in the house with blackout curtains.
mother gave me one task.
“You’re her older sister. You need to look after her.”
So during the day, I listened to her cry.
And at night, I sat with her.
Every time she said something that pulled her deeper into despair, I reached out and held her up.
I held her up for five months, until my own hands started shaking.
One night at three in the morning, I was pouring her a glass of water.
The cup slipped from my hand and hit the edge of the table.
It shattered.
Mom rushed out, and the first thing she said was:
“Did you do that on purpose? Lily finally fell asleep!”
She didn’t even notice the blood running down my hand.
Later, when the Community Mental Health Counselor came to check on us, she looked at me a little longer than usual.
“I feel like your sister isn’t doing very well either.”
Before I could say anything, Mom interrupted in.
“She’s fine. Seeing how much everyone cares about Lily just makes her want attention too.”
After the counselor left, Mom slammed the door.
“Attention seeker! Lily is the one who’s actually sick. You’re supposed to take care of her, but all you do is walk around looking miserable. What are you pretending to be?”
During those days, every second I was awake felt like I was sinking deeper and deeper.
By the seventh month, Lily got better.
The first time she pulled open the curtains herself and said how good the sunlight felt, Mom and Dad cried right in front of her.
Mom wiped away her tears while putting food onto Lily’s plate.
“My Lily finally made it through. The hardest days for our family are over.”
I sat at the corner of the table.
The sound of my fork touching my plate felt distant, like it was coming from the other side of the water.
After dinner, I cleaned the table and washed the dishes alone.
From the living room, I heard Mom and Lily laughing together.
Suddenly, I remembered a story I had heard as a child.
Someone jumped into a hole in the ice and desperately pushed another person back onto the surface.
Everyone on the shore cheered.
And then the ice closed over her.
Quietly.
No one ever looked down to see what happened to her.
……
I stood in front of the sink.
The soap bubbles on my hands slid between my fingers and dripped away.
Lily’s laughter came from the living room.
She was opening the new phone Dad had just bought her.
A pink case.
The latest model.
“Dad, you’re the best! I love u!”
“Whatever Lily likes is fine.”
My phone screen had been cracked for four months.
There was a black line across every photo I took.
Last month, I mentioned it once.
Mom only said:
“Come on! You don’t even post on Instagram. Just keep using it.”
The bubbles washed down the drain.
The dishes were already clean.
But I was still standing there, not knowing where to go.
The living room belonged to Lily.
The balcony was covered with Lily’s new dresses.
Even my old bedroom had become Lily’s.
After Lily was diagnosed, Mom told me to move into the tiny room they used as storage.
She said the bigger room should belong to Lily because she needed a place where she wouldn’t feel trapped.
The day I moved in, they didn’t even change the bedsheets.
There were still stains from Lily’s bubble tea.
Mom had said:
“Just make do for one night. I’ll wash them tomorrow.”
She never mentioned it again.
A three-bedroom Family Home.
And I couldn’t find a single corner that belonged to me.
Dinner was always filled with Lily’s favorite dishes.
I reached for a piece of fish, but Mom immediately tapped my fork away with hers.
“Hey, Leave that for Lily. She’s only just gotten her appetite back. Eat something else.”
Dad sat beside her, peeling shrimp one by one and lining them up on Lily’s plate.
“Eat more, sweetheart. You need to put some weight back on. You’re too weak.”
“You’re the best! Love you, Dad!”
Lily leaned against his shoulder and smiled sweetly.
Dad’s eyes crinkled with a smile I hadn’t seen in years.
I couldn’t remember the last time he had looked at me that way.
I lowered my head and kept eating.
I chewed for a long time.
But I couldn’t swallow.
I remembered when I was eight years old and had a fever of 104 degrees.
Mom had made cream of mushroom bisque once.
It was for Lily.
“Nina has a fever. She doesn’t need any of this. Save the soup for Lily. Don’t waste them.”
That was the year I turned eight.
The memory faded.
I picked up the trash beside me and walked past the living room.
Lily was curled up on the couch, scrolling through her phone.
Mom sat beside her, peeling an orange for her.
Dad was sitting back with his legs crossed, watching TV.
A family of three.
The picture was complete.
They didn’t need anyone else.
As I carried the trash bag toward the door, I heard Lily speaking from the couch.
“Mom, look! I posted something on Instagram.”
Mom leaned closer.
“That’s good. Read it to mommy.”
“Thank you, Mom and Dad, for walking with me through the darkest days of my life. Without you, I wouldn’t be who I am today.”
The picture was a photo of the three of them.
Lily stood in the middle.
Dad and Mom stood on either side of her.
All three of them were smiling happily.
I had been there when that photo was taken.
I was the one who took it.
Mom’s eyes turned red again after reading the post.
She pulled Lily into her arms.
“My Lily do well! That’s my girl!”
I stood at the doorway holding the trash bag.
I stared at her back for a long time.
Then I walked out.
Downstairs.
I threw the trash into the bin.
The lid dropped shut with a dull thud.
At two in the morning, I woke up.
Not because of a noise.
My body had simply memorized that time.
For seven months, I had woken up at exactly two every night.
I opened the door and looked into the living room.
Lily was curled up on the couch, hugging a pillow.
Her body was trembling slightly.
The psychiatrist had said that even after recovery, there could still be small emotional fluctuations.
It didn’t mean a relapse.
But my legs moved before my mind could catch up.
I walked over.
Poured her a glass of warm water.
Then crouched beside her and patted her back.
Over and over.
Keeping pace with her heartbeat.
Slower.
Then slower.
Forty minutes later, she finally stopped shaking.
“Nina, don’t leave.”
“I won’t.”
I sat on the floor beside the couch and held her hand.
Her hand was warm.
Mine was cold.
She finally fell asleep just before dawn.
I slowly released her hand and used the couch armrest to push myself up.
Suddenly, everything went black for a moment.
My body swayed.
My knees gave out.
I crouched down.
I held onto the coffee table leg and waited a long time before my vision slowly returned.
Holding onto the wall, I made my way back to the tiny room step by step.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
There was something heavy stuck in my chest.
Something I couldn’t push out.
I opened my mouth, wanting to cry.
But no sound came.
I had even forgotten how to cry.
I picked up my phone and opened the Notes app I had created while taking care of Lily.
Out of habit, I added one more line at the bottom.
She can’t turn on the main light when she wakes up at night. Only the warm yellow night-light. The cold white light scares her.
After writing it down, I turned off the screen.
The room went dark.
The curtains were blackout curtains.
The ones Dad and Mom had replaced last year for Lily.
She had recovered and moved back into the bigger bedroom.
But no one ever changed the curtains back.
I lay down.
Closed my eyes.
Everything was dark.
Everything.