Chapter 3

Grace's POV

"The insurance." My voice sounded strange, "You're the beneficiary."

"Well, yeah." She looked at me. "I mean, I'm the one who needs it, right? With all my health problems and medical bills."

I'm the one who needs it. With my health issues. Those words just kept echoing in my head.

"Grace?" Emily leaned forward with concern all over her face. "Are you okay? You look really pale right now."

I stood up because I needed to move. My legs felt disconnected from the rest of me.

"I need to check something."

"Check what? Grace, what's wrong?"

I was already walking away.

The study door was always locked. Dad's sacred space where he did "God's work" and we weren't allowed to disturb him. But tonight I didn't care about his rules or his privacy or any of it.

I grabbed a butter knife from the kitchen and worked it into the lock until it clicked open.

It took a few tries because my hands wouldn't stop shaking, but eventually I got it.

I went straight for the cabinets and pulled open drawers until I found the one labeled "Financial Documents."

Property deed. I yanked it out and my eyes went right to the beneficiary line. Emily Johnson.

Life insurance policy. Beneficiary: Emily Johnson.

Joint bank account. Co-owner: Emily Johnson.

Investment portfolio. Emily Johnson.

Retirement funds designated to. Emily Johnson.

Every single document had her name. Every single one. Not mine. Never mine. Not once in twenty-one years had anyone thought to put my name on anything that mattered.

I ended up sitting on the floor with papers scattered all around me, and this laugh came out of my chest that didn't sound like me at all.

I'm twenty-one years old and I literally don't exist to them. Not on paper. Not in any way that counts. I was just the practice kid, the rough draft they used to figure out what they actually wanted before Emily came along and became their entire world.

I put all the stuff back in its place and headed back to my room. I heard a soft knock on my bedroom door maybe an hour later. "Grace?"

I was sitting on my bed still wearing my coat because I didn't have the energy to take it off.

"Grace, please. Can we talk?" Emily's voice sounded small and worried through the door. "I didn't know you didn't know about the money and the accounts. I honestly thought you knew about all of that."

Of course she thought I knew. Why wouldn't she? In Emily's world, everything makes sense. Parents love their daughters equally. Families take care of each other. Nobody gets completely left out of everything.

"I just wanted to explain what I meant—"

"Emily." I cut her off, "Don't."

"But I feel like I said something wrong and I didn't mean to upset you—"

"Please." I leaned my head back against the door. "I really need to be alone right now."

"Grace, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize it would sound like that. I wasn't trying to—"

"It's not your fault." And it really wasn't. Emily didn't choose to be the favorite. She didn't ask to be born premature with health problems that made Mom and Dad obsess over her every breath. She didn't decide that her existence would somehow make mine completely irrelevant. "I just need some space right now. Okay?"

I heard her hesitate, and then finally her footsteps retreated down the hallway.

I locked my door and turned off the lights.

The room was dark. I sat cross-legged on my bed and scrolled through my phone, looking at photos. Pictures from work, selfies in my uniform, photos of food orders I'd delivered to strangers' houses. I scrolled back months and months, and there wasn't a single family photo. Not one picture of me with Mom or Dad or Emily.

When was the last time we even took a photo together? I genuinely couldn't remember. Maybe years ago at some church event where they needed to look like the perfect family for the camera.

I put my phone down and pulled out my Bible from the nightstand. The pages were worn and highlighted in about a dozen different colors from all the Sunday school lessons I'd sat through. All those verses about love and family and God's perfect plan for everyone.

Your plan really sucks, I thought, and then immediately felt guilty for thinking it.

I found a blank page in the back and wrote in careful letters: "I pray for Emily. May she always feel the Lord's love, and may she know that her sister's love never left her."

My handwriting looked shaky and uneven. I don't know when my hands started trembling all the time, but they wouldn't stop now.

The pain came back suddenly, sharp and twisting deep in my stomach. I curled up on my side and pressed a pillow hard against my abdomen, biting down on the edge of it to keep from making any noise.

Maybe I shouldn't have expected anything different. The thought felt almost peaceful in a hopeless kind of way. Maybe this is just how it was always meant to be. Maybe I was always going to be the one who didn't matter.

I closed my eyes while the pain radiated through my whole body. But honestly, the physical pain wasn't even the worst part anymore. The worst part was knowing that I'd spent twenty-one years trying so desperately to earn love that was never actually meant for me. And now I had maybe six months left to figure out what the hell to do with that truth.

At least Emily didn't do anything wrong. My little sister didn't ask for any of this. She didn't deserve to be caught in the middle of whatever broken, twisted thing our family actually was underneath all the church smiles and perfect appearances.

I hugged my Bible close to my chest.

Three to six months.

I guess it didn't really matter anymore who the insurance beneficiary was. I wouldn't be around to see any of it anyway.