Mango Chapter 1

My sister, Rachel, ate half a plate of mangoes I’d left on the table. She broke out in an allergic rash.

My brother, Bernard, stormed into my room, pried my mouth open, and started forcing mango juice down my throat.

“You love mangoes, don’t you? Today, I’m going to let you have your fill!”

The juice went down the wrong pipe. I couldn't breathe. My throat was swelling shut. I begged him to save me.

Instead, he dragged me to the basement and locked the door.

“Rachel is suffering, so you don’t get to be comfortable either!” he snarled. “You can stay in here and think about what you’ve done. You had no one to teach you growing up, no wonder you’re so vicious!”

Two days later, my mother finally remembered me.

“Bernard, that’s enough. Let Lina out,” she said. “If you keep her in there too long, she’ll start to resent Rachel.”

My father, standing nearby, added carelessly, “What’s the big deal? We can just buy her something nice. That’ll make up for it.”

I was floating above them, a ghost tethered to my father’s shoulder. I followed them as they drifted toward the basement.

I wanted to see. I wanted to see just how they planned to “make it up” to me.

…

The day I was locked in the basement, my brother Bernard stormed back into the living room and smashed a glass on the table.

“Is Lina even part of this family?” he raged. “Mom, Dad, are you sure the paternity test was right? How could we have a child like her?”

My parents’ faces were grim.

Our housekeeper, Maria, stammered, “Sir, Miss Lina looked like she was in a lot of pain. Her face was turning purple. Are you sure we don’t need to take her to the hospital?”

Bernard whirled on her. “Shut your mouth! You feel sorry for her? Who feels sorry for Rachel? A girl’s appearance is everything to her. Lina knew Rachel was allergic to mangoes, and she still deliberately left half a plate out on the table just to give her a rash. She’s always pulling these petty, underhanded tricks. Does she think no one can see through her?”

His face was a mask of disgust. “She brought this on herself!”

Maria opened her mouth, then shut it again.

“Brother, don’t be angry…” a delicate voice drifted down from the top of the stairs. Rachel was leaning weakly against the railing, her eyes brimming with tears.

The image of my own tear-streaked, desperate face flashed in Bernard’s mind, but he shook it away and rushed to Rachel’s side.

“Your rash hasn’t cleared up yet. Why did you come out?”

Rachel’s face was pale. “Brother, don’t blame Lina. I’m sure… I’m sure she didn’t do it on purpose…”

Bernard stroked her cheek, his expression full of concern. “You don’t have to make excuses for her. She deserves everything she gets.”

As soon as he said it, Rachel’s sobs grew more pathetic. “It’s all my fault! If I had just watched her more carefully when we were little, she wouldn’t have been taken…”

My sister Rachel and I were twins.

When we were five, she told me she was going to buy me some candy. She told me to wait right where I was and not to move.

But she went straight home without me. By the time my parents came looking, I was already gone.

For sixteen years, I lived in a remote, impoverished mountain village, enduring endless beatings and abuse. One day, my foster father looked at my developing body with a predatory glint in his eye and reached for me.

In my moment of deepest despair, my real parents found me.

I thought I had finally escaped hell. I never imagined that this beautiful, wealthy home would be a place where I couldn't even survive.

Bernard closed his eyes. “Don’t blame yourself for everything. Lina is just a naturally malicious person. It has nothing to do with anyone else. But I’m her brother. I’ll teach her. I’ll at least make her a decent human being.”

Rachel nodded. “I know, brother. I’ll help you. We’ll turn our little sister into a real princess…”

My parents nodded in approval.

I flew at Bernard and Rachel, slapping each of them across the face. But the smiles on their faces didn’t waver. My hands passed right through them, into nothingness.

I’d forgotten. I was already dead.

Before I died, my face was contorted in agony. I clutched at my chest, the feeling of suffocation driving me to despair. But even then, I had held onto a sliver of hope. Hope that my brother would open the door and take me to the hospital. Hope that my parents would save me from the darkness, just as they had before.

But nothing came.

My consciousness was fading, my vision blurring, but my hearing remained sharp. I heard Bernard outside the door, instructing the housekeeper. “Don’t give her anything to eat or drink without my permission.”

“Won’t that… be a problem?” Maria asked hesitantly.

Bernard scoffed. “What’s the problem with starving for a few days? I’m doing this for her own good. If she doesn’t suffer a little, she’ll never learn.”

I felt a ghost of a smile stretch my lips. I was laughing at Bernard, but more than that, I was laughing at myself.

I remembered a time Rachel had been in a bad mood and only picked at her dinner. Bernard had noticed immediately, fussed over her, and even went into the kitchen to bake her favorite cupcakes.

But for me? I could starve for days, and no one would care.

I didn’t understand. I was his sister, too. I was their biological daughter. Why couldn't they love me? Why wouldn't they believe me?

When their gazes, filled with annoyance, disappointment, and even hatred, fell upon me, I felt like I had already died long ago. I died on that hot summer day when I was five years old.

Filled with bitterness and resentment, I finally lost consciousness and slipped into eternal darkness.