Introduction
Have you ever been murdered by your own mother? I have.
My name is Aira, and today is my sister Lily's birthday. It's also the anniversary of my death—the day the washing machine became my coffin.
"Why couldn't it have been you who died?"
After four long years, my mom finally got her wish.
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About Author
Joy Brown
Chapter 1
Mom's hand grabbed my arm before I even opened my eyes.
"Get up! Lily's birthday won't wait for you!"
I blinked at the dark window. The clock said 5:30. Outside, the sky was still black, but Mom's fingernails were digging into my skin like she thought I'd run away if she let go.
"I said GET UP!"
I scrambled out of bed, my feet getting tangled in the sheets. Mom was already pulling clothes out of my closet—no, not my clothes. Lily's clothes. The pink dress with the white flowers that Lily wore to her last birthday party. The one that was too small even when Lily was alive.
"Put it on," Mom said. Her voice was that scary-calm kind, the kind that meant she was about to explode if I said the wrong thing.
"Mom, it's too small. I can't—"
"Lily never complained." She shoved the dress at my chest. "Put. It. On."
My hands shook as I pulled off my pajamas. The dress barely fit over my head. The zipper wouldn't go all the way up, and the fabric squeezed my ribs so tight I could barely breathe.
But I didn't say anything. I learned a long time ago that complaining only made things worse.
Mom grabbed my shoulders and spun me toward the mirror. "Look at you. You're bigger than Lily ever got to be." Her fingers dug into my shoulders. "That's not fair, is it?"
I stared at my reflection. My face looked like Lily's—everyone said so. But I wasn't Lily. I was Aria. Except Mom didn't want Aria anymore.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
Mom dragged me to the bathroom and forced me onto the stool. She yanked a brush through my hair so hard I felt strands ripping out. I bit my lip to keep from crying. Lily never cried, Mom always said. Lily was brave. Lily was perfect.
"Hold still!" Mom's hand cracked against the side of my head when I flinched. "Lily never moved when I did her hair!"
Tears burned my eyes, but I squeezed them shut. When Mom finished, she grabbed my chin and forced my face up. Her makeup brushes felt like tiny knives. The mascara wand jabbed my eyeball. I yelped.
"Stop crying!" Mom's voice went shrill. "Lily never cried!"
"It hurts," I choked out.
"Good." Mom's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Maybe pain will teach you to be more like her."
I heard Dad's footsteps in the hallway. For a second, hope flickered in my chest. Maybe he'd tell Mom to stop.
But Dad just stood in the doorway with his coffee mug, staring at his phone.
"Sarah, don't be too rough," he said without looking up. "We don't want marks."
Mom dragged me downstairs after she finished making me look like Lily's ghost. The kitchen smelled like strawberry waffles—Lily's favorite. Mom had set the table with two plates. Just two. One for her, one for Dad.
I stood by the wall and watched them eat. My stomach growled, but I knew better than to move. I wasn't allowed to sit at the table on Lily's birthday.
"Lily ate at seven sharp," Mom said, cutting her waffle into perfect squares. "You'll eat after we finish."
Dad nodded and kept scrolling on his phone. By the time they finished, the waffles were cold and hard. Mom scraped the leftovers onto a paper plate and shoved it at me.
"Eat in your room. Don't make a mess."
I took the plate carefully, turning to leave. But my elbow bumped the hallway table. Lily's photo frame wobbled. I lunged to catch it, but my fingers only knocked it harder.
The frame crashed to the floor. Glass exploded everywhere.
The room went silent.
Mom's chair scraped back. I dropped to my knees, frantically picking up glass pieces. A sharp edge sliced my finger. Blood dripped onto Lily's smiling face in the photo.
"You did that on purpose." Mom's voice was quiet. Too quiet. "You always hated your sister."
"No! I didn't mean to—"
Her hand cracked across my face so hard I tasted copper. "Don't lie to me!"
"I loved Lily!" The tears I'd been holding back spilled over. "I miss her too!"
Mom grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. "This is nothing compared to what Lily suffered because of you."
Because of me. Everything was always because of me. Lily drowned because I didn't watch her. Mom was sad because I was alive. Dad was tired because I made everything harder.
When I looked down, I saw blood on my hand. My cut finger had bled onto Lily's white dress—the one I was wearing.
Mom saw it the same moment I did.
Her face went white, then red, then something worse. Something empty.
"You ruined it." Her voice sounded dead. "You ruined Lily's dress."
"I'm sorry, I'll wash it—"
She grabbed my arm and started dragging me toward the basement door. I knew where we were going. The basement was where Mom sent me when I was bad. Sometimes the closet. Sometimes the cold storage room. Once, she left me in the dark so long I forgot what day it was.
But this time felt different.
"Mom, please," I begged, my feet sliding on the floor. "I said I'm sorry!"
"Lily never talked back."
She shoved me through the basement door. I caught the railing just before I fell down the stairs. The basement was dark and smelled like mildew. In the corner sat the big washing machine—the front-loading kind with the glass door you could see through.
Mom marched over and yanked the door open. The inside was dark and empty.
"Get in."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "Mom, I can't breathe in there—"
"Then learn to hold your breath." Her eyes looked through me. "Like Lily did in the water."
The words stabbed into my chest. Lily in the pool, sinking. Her little hands reaching up. I jumped in to save her. I tried so hard. But Dad only pulled me out.
"Mom, please—"
She grabbed the back of my neck and shoved me toward the machine. I tried to resist, but she was stronger. My head bumped the metal rim as she pushed me inside. I curled into a ball, knees pressed to my chest, spine bent at a weird angle.
The drum smelled like detergent and something sour. The metal was cold against my cheek. Through the glass door, I could see Mom's twisted face.
"When you're ready to apologize properly," she said, "knock."
"I'm sorry!" I screamed. "Mom, please—"
The door slammed shut. Click. The lock engaged.
Everything went dark.
Her footsteps went up the stairs. The basement door closed. The lock turned.
Then silence.
I pressed my face against the glass, my breath fogging it up. Upstairs, music started playing. Mom was having Lily's birthday party without me. Or maybe she was pretending I was Lily now.
My chest felt tight. The air was getting warm and stuffy. I tried to breathe slowly. Count to ten. In and out.
One, two, three...
Mom would come back. She always did.
Four, five, six...
I pressed my palms against the door, searching for an inside latch. There wasn't one. The door only opened from outside.
Seven, eight, nine...
It was fine. I'd survived the closet before. This was just another punishment.
Ten.
I started counting again. And again.
Somewhere around one thousand, the air felt thicker. My head hurt. I pressed harder against the glass, like maybe I could push it open.
"Mom?" My voice sounded small. "Mom, I'm really sorry."
No answer.
I kept counting. Two thousand. Three thousand. My mouth felt dry. Each breath took more effort than the last.
Through the glass, I could see a tiny sliver of light from the basement window. Outside, the sun was coming up. How long had I been in here?
"Mom!" I banged on the glass. "I learned my lesson! I'll be good!"
Nothing.
My hands were shaking now. Or maybe my whole body was shaking. It was getting hard to tell. The air felt thick like soup. Each breath barely filled my lungs.
Four thousand. Five thousand.
"Please," I whispered. "Please, I'm sorry."
I thought about Lily. About how scared she must have been in the water. How her lungs must have burned. How she must have wished someone would save her.
I tried to save you, I thought. I really tried.
My eyelids felt heavy. The counting got harder. Six thousand... or was it seven? I couldn't remember.
The basement window showed full morning light now. Hours had passed. Mom still hadn't come.
Maybe she forgot. Maybe this time she really meant to leave me here.
Maybe this time, I wouldn't get out.
My last thought before everything went fuzzy was: At least now Mom and Dad can be happy. At least now I won't remind them anymore.
Then the darkness wasn't just around me.
It was inside me too.
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About Author
Joy Brown
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