Chapter 3

I woke up to the sound of Sophie rummaging through my car.

Yesterday felt like a fever dream. The aurora. The confession. The weight of three weeks pressing down on my chest like a stone. Sophie had held me until I stopped shaking, then made me promise to try eating breakfast.

I kept half the promise.

Now she was outside in the morning cold, pulling things from my backseat with the methodical precision of someone trying not to think too hard about why she was doing it.

"Just grabbing your things," she called when she caught me watching through the window. "No point leaving them in the cold."

But when she came back inside, she was carrying more than clothes.

The shoebox sat heavy in her hands like a time bomb waiting to explode.

"Photos," she said gently, setting it on the kitchen table between us. "I found them under your spare tire. Weird place to keep memories."

I stared at the box. I'd forgotten about it. Thrown it in the car the night I left, along with everything else I couldn't bear to leave behind for them to find.

"Maybe you want to look through them?" Sophie suggested. "Or not. Whatever you need."

Rocky had been restless all morning, pacing by the window, whining at sounds only he could hear. Dogs sense when their humans need to face ghosts.

The first photo made my chest tight.

I was ten years old, gap-toothed grin, holding a lopsided cupcake with a single candle. The kitchen counter behind me was covered in flour handprints. I remembered that birthday. Mom was upstairs planning Sienna's sweet sixteen—seven years early because Sienna had seen a party planning show and decided she "needed" to start preparing.

I'd baked my own cupcake. Sang "Happy Birthday" to myself in the empty kitchen. Made a wish that never came true.

"You were so little," Sophie whispered, settling beside me on the couch.

The next photo slid out before I was ready. High school graduation. I was holding my Stanford acceptance letter—full scholarship, early admission. My smile was radiant, victorious.

But I was alone in the photo.

Because ten minutes after I'd gotten the call, Sienna had locked herself in the bathroom. "I only got into community college," she'd sobbed through the door. "How is that fair? Emma gets everything."

Mom had knocked on my bedroom door later that night. "Keep this quiet for a while, honey. You know how sensitive she is about academic things."

So I'd celebrated alone. Again.

"Why didn't anyone else take pictures with you?" Sophie asked, her voice careful.

"They were busy," I said automatically. The old excuse. The practiced lie.

Rocky jumped onto the couch beside me, pressing his warm body against my leg. He knew I was traveling dangerous territory.

My fingers found another photo. College sophomore year. The State Programming Championship trophy gleamed in my hands. I remembered calling home, breathless with excitement.

"Mom, I won! The youngest competitor to ever—"

"That's wonderful, sweetheart," she'd interrupted. "But I need to go. Sienna just got dumped by that boy from her art class. She's inconsolable."

The line went dead. I sat in my dorm room, trophy in my lap, wondering why my victories always felt like stealing thunder.

The next photo stopped my breathing.

Engagement day. Two months ago, though it felt like a lifetime. Ethan and I stood in his parents' garden, my left hand extended to show off the ring. The diamond caught the sunlight like a promise.

But my smile looked forced now, looking back. Because I remembered what happened after the photographer left.

Sienna had started seizing. Right there on the perfectly manicured lawn, her body convulsing while everyone screamed for an ambulance. Later, the doctors said it was a panic attack, not a real seizure. But in that moment, every eye turned away from my ring to focus on her.

"Emma," Mom had snapped when she caught me staring. "Don't just stand there. Get Sienna some water."

My engagement party became Sienna's medical emergency. My moment became her crisis.

Story of my life.

The photos blurred together after that. Christmas mornings where Sienna got the first and last presents. Family dinners where I sat at the end of the table, invisible unless someone needed something. Birthday parties that got canceled because Sienna had a "bad feeling day."

Then I found it.

The diary.

Pink leather, tiny lock broken long ago. My ten-year-old handwriting sprawled across the yellowed pages in purple gel pen.

Dear Diary, the first entry began. Today was okay I guess. Sienna got to pick the movie again because she said action movies make her anxious. We watched Frozen for the 47th time. I wanted to watch something else but Mom said I need to be more understanding.

Sophie read over my shoulder, her breath catching.

I flipped forward, my heart hammering.

Dear Diary, I got an A+ on my science project but Mrs. Henderson had to call Mom about Sienna's grade again. Mom was so stressed she forgot to look at my project. Maybe tomorrow.

Another page.

Dear Diary, maybe if I'm quieter, smaller, better... Mom will love me like she loves Sienna. Maybe if I need less, take up less space, she'll notice I'm here too.

The diary fell from my hands.

"Oh, Emma," Sophie breathed. "You were just a kid."

That little girl. That hopeful, heartbroken little girl. She spent her whole life trying to earn love that should have been freely given.

She gave away pieces of herself until nothing was left.

"I failed her," I whispered. "That little girl. I let them erase her."

But even as I said it, I knew it wasn't true. They didn't erase her. They just taught her that love was conditional. That being enough meant being less. That her worth was measured by how little space she took up in the world.

Outside, the aurora borealis flickered faintly in the daylight sky, a ghost of last night's promise.

I thought about that ten-year-old girl, standing in an empty kitchen with flour on her hands and hope in her heart. I thought about everything she dreamed of becoming.

She wanted to be seen. She wanted to matter. She wanted someone to choose her first, just once.

The cancer was taking my body. But maybe, finally, I could give that little girl what she always wanted.

The choice to leave.

The choice to stop waiting for love that was never coming.

Rocky nuzzled my hand, and for once, I didn't feel invisible.

I felt free.