Doyle

e. She hated that we shared a birthday, a face, a family. She wanted to be unique, to be singular in her parents' affection. She hated to share anything,

for stealing my favorite doll, or for pushing me off the swing. "Kyleigh,

her own, everything shifted. Suddenly, she was the hero, the fragile angel. I became the selfish, ungrateful

icking on Kyleigh? Can't you see she's not well?" my mother would sigh, her voice laced with disapp

trying to argue with Kyleigh, or with them. Their minds were made up, their narrative set in stone. I

going to save h

tle but firm. "It's time, Jana.

ery marrow of my being. My soul, already tattered and bruised, felt like it was re

was truly gone? Or would they simply be relieved? Released from the burden of my inconveni

unded Kyleigh, a protective circle of love and concern. Fred, my father, his voice softer than I' d

yleigh' s hand. "When you're out, I'll make all

his pocket. It shimmered in the fluorescent light. "For you, my love," he whispered, his gaze

exist, as if I wasn' t also about to undergo a major surgery, one that would steal my last remaining organ. I thoug

ragile, a desperate whisper from a dying soul. "What if.

s in the room. A flash of irritation, then embarrassment, crossed Joyce' s face. "Ja

er than Kyleigh. You'll bounce back in no time. I'll even cook you that seafood feast you love

gh filled with a performative tenderness, held no true concern. "You'll be okay, Jan

o buy my silence, my life, with trinkets and false comfort. He was

m gone. The thought w

of blind devotion, their gazes fixed on the one they cherished. The

kin. Then, the steel of the scalpel, a searing line across my abdomen. My already compromised body, stripped of its last defense, buckled. The poison, rampant in my

ng. Silence

he one who saved Dad five years ago? That I lived with their accusations, their neglect, their en

matter. Not to

the last vestiges of my consciousness fa