Killing My Half-Sister with Kindness

My dad brought the illegitimate daughter home while I was in the living room eating an orange.

This is your sister.

She's three months older than you. She'll be living here from now on.

A girl stood in the entryway. Faded school uniform, washed so many times it had gone white. Big eyes. Shrinking into herself.

Hello, ma'am. Hi sis. Her voice was barely above a whisper. I-I won't be any trouble.

My mom sat on the sofa, face ashen, nails digging into her palms.

I kept peeling my orange. Said nothing.

Last life, I'd fallen for every bit of that.

Felt sorry for her. Being born illegitimate wasn't something she'd picked. Her mother had just died, she didn't know a soulso I gave her half my bedroom.

And what did that get me?

Two weeks.

Two weeks was all it took for the entire family to decide I was the bully.

But this time around?

I wasn't going to let her win.

At dinner she piled food onto my dad's plate and ate plain white rice herself.

My dad's eyes cut to meLook at your sister, then look at yourself.

She placed top ten in her grade. I hovered around fiftieth.

Soon enough my dad was telling anyone who'd listenThe eldest works hard. The younger one just wants to play.

My allowance? Cut. Redirected to her study materials.

My birthday party? Canceled. She said celebrations reminded her of her dead mother. Made her sad.

I tested into the elite honors class. One phone call from my dad, and my spot went to her.

Your sister's foundation is weak. What difference does it make where you study?

College applicationsshe sobbed about how she couldn't bear to lose her little sister. My dad switched my first choice from Harbor City to a local school.

I brought a boyfriend home. She locked herself in her room. Next morning her eyes were red and she said she envied mehaving someone who loved me.

Word reached his mother. Engagement off. Our family was "too complicated."

At thirty-two I finally scraped together a down payment.

She handed my dad her entire savings, crying so hard she could barely get the words outIf she moves away, this family is finished.

No apartment.

My dad slammed the tableYour sister put up every cent she has, and you still want to run off and live the good life? Where's your conscience?

Forty years old. Clerk at a small company. Five thousand a month.

No marriage. No kids. No place of my own.

And her? Bank branch manager. Married a civil servant. Son and a daughter. Big apartment downtown.

New Year's she'd waltz in with a carton of milk and the whole family would coo about what a devoted daughter she was.

I was in the kitchen doing dishes. She was in the living room, chatting with Dad.

Dad, why is Athena still single? There's a security guard at my officedivorced, two kids, but he's an honest sort.

My dad saidFine. Set it up.

That night I stood at the sink watching the greasy water spiral in slow circles and thought: how the hell did my life turn into this.

Then came the breast cancer diagnosis.

No money for chemo.

She shared a crowdfunding postBe strong, sis. I love you. Always.

Raised just over thirty thousand. Her contribution: five hundred.

The day I died, she posted againThe person who loved me most in this world is gone. Sis, next life, let's be sisters again.

Nine hundred likes.

Everybody's favorite big sister.

I read that post three times, and closed my eyes.

When I opened them, I was sixteen again.

This is your sister. She's going to live with us from now on.

The orange was still in my hand, half-peeled.

I looked at the timid girl standing in the doorway, and I grinned.

Sis! Sugary-sweet, voice pitched high. Finally! I've been saving something good for you!

I trotted over and grabbed her hand, all warmth, all smiles.

She flinchedpulled back for just a secondbut with Dad right there she didn't dare shake me off.

I tugged her into the bedroom and pointed at the closetCleared out half for you! Desk is fifty-fifty. You want the wall side of the bed or the edge? Actually, take the wall sideI don't want you falling off in the middle of the night.

She stared at me, frozen.

Sis

Oh, stop! I waved a magnanimous hand. From now on, you're my big sister, period. Anybody in this house gives you a hard time, they go through me.

My mom coughed from the living room.

I walked out, pulled her into the kitchen, and dropped my voice. Mom, eventually this house will be hers and not yours. But not yet. If you fight with her, Dad gets upset and the neighbors call you cruel. It's not worth it.

My mom went still.

In my last life I'd been a firecracker, even louder than she was.

And where did that get me?

My dad threatened divorce. Said this house had no room for his daughter, so he'd take her and leave.

In the end I was the one who caved, and I came out looking bad to everyone.

This time around, I understood.

A hard knife killsand you pay with your life.

A soft knife destroys from the inside.

Bridget moved in.

The first few days she was careful. Spoke little, moved quietly, got up twenty minutes before me every morning to make her bed.

I acted like I didn't notice.

Then came the weekend when my dad was actually home for dinner.

My mom had cooked a full spread.

But Bridget took one tiny bite of greens and worked her way through half a bowl of plain white rice.

My dad watched her. Why aren't you eating any meat?

She shook her head, voice barely there. My stomach's not great. I try to keep things light.

My dad's expression darkened for a second.

I knew exactly what he was thinking.

How much had this kid suffered out there, that she didn't even dare eat meat.

In my last life, this was the moment I'd been gnawing a spare rib. I muttered Drama queen and got chewed out for it, my allowance docked for half a month.

This time, I set my chopsticks down.

Let my eyes go red.

Bridgetyou think this house has no place for you, don't you? My voice shook. Is it because I'm here? Is that why you won't even touch the food?

Bridget froze.

My dad froze.

I swiped at my tears and let my voice climb. Dad! Look at her! She won't even eat meat in her own homejust one bite of greens! How much did she go through out there to make herself this small?

Bridget opened her mouth. That's not it, sis

Of course it is! I choked out the words as I piled ribs onto her plate, then fish. You're only three months older than me. We're real sisters! If you leave all the meat for me, how am I supposed to eat it?

My mom looked up at me, her eyes spelling out four wordsHave you lost your mind?

I gave her a quick wink.

The next second, I cried for real.

Not wailing. The kind where your whole face burns red and the tears come heavy and fast and your lips won't stop shaking.

Dadshe's had it so hardlook how thin she is, look at her hands

Her hands really were rough, all bone and tendon. Not the hands of a sixteen-year-old girl.

My dad's expression cracked.

He probably never imagined his loud, impulsive little girl could feel this much for the daughter he'd failed all those years.

He was quiet for a moment, then placed a piece of meat in Bridget's bowl. Eat. This family can spare you a bite.

Bridget looked at the meat in her bowl, her lips moved slightly, and she ate it.

I knew she wasn't happy.

Her whole plan had been to play the girl who suffers in silence and milk the sympathy.

But I'd stolen her script.

Once someone hijacks your martyr act, how are you supposed to play the lead?

That was the day I became everyone's perfect little sister.

She got up early to make her bed? I got up earlier.

She scored well and Dad praised her.

I was the first to clap. My sister's incredible! She pulled these grades growing up out thereimagine what she'd have done if she'd been with us the whole time!

My dad kept his head down and ate, didn't say a word.

But his face said it plainYeah. I owe this kid.

She'd demur. You work hard too, sis.

I'd jump right in. I'm just slow. Nowhere near as good as my sister. But that's okay. She can tutor me from now on, and I'll definitely improve.

The trap was set.

If she refused to teach me, she was the ungrateful one.

If she taught me and I still bombed, that only proved she was brilliant and I was stupid. And if I was that stupid yet still adored her, how could she have the nerve to say I was in her way?

In my last life, I'd slammed my chopsticks on the tableSo what if you're top ten? Big deal.

I got an hour standing in the corner for that.

This time, I ladled her a bowl of soupHave some more, sis. All that studying burns a lot of energy.

Even my father's expression softened when he looked at me.

Mom pulled me aside laterWhat exactly are you up to?

I saidMom, remember how I hated celery as a kid? Then I figured out that if you chop it fine and mix it into dumpling filling, you can't even taste it. You don't fight celery by chewing it raw. You wrap it in a dumpling and swallow it whole.

She looked like she understood. Or maybe she didn't, quite.

School started. Same class.

Dad had pulled strings to arrange it, so I could look after her.

In my last life, nothing had infuriated me more.

The whole class knew I had a brilliant older sister. I was measured against her constantly, and the harder I pushed back, the worse I looked.

This time was different.

First day of school, I grabbed her hand and announced to the entire classThis is my sister! My real sister! Three months older than me, and her grades are amazing!

Every face in the room went blank.

Most families, an older sister suddenly appears out of nowherethere's going to be some awkwardness.

Someone who grabs a megaphone and broadcasts it everywhere? Unheard of.

I became the class's resident sister fanatic.

Her turn to clean the classroom? I grabbed the broom first.

She went to get lunch? I held her place in line.

She ran the eight-hundred-meter? I screamed Go, sis! until my voice gave out.

Classmates would sayYou're way too good to your sister.

I'd scratch my head and grinShe's the only one I've got.

The one time the act almost cracked: midterm results.

She placed third in the grade. I placed forty-seventh.

That wasn't performance. My foundation really was weaker than hers.

In my last life, she'd taken my spot in the elite honors class. Better teachers, stronger base, and she'd kept that lead ever since.

But I didn't panic.

When the teacher read out my ranking, I burst into tearsnot an act, real tears, pure grievance. She'd stepped on me to climb in my last life, and in this one she was still above me. The feeling hit and I didn't even try to hold it back.

The classroom went dead silent.

I wiped my eyes as I criedYou're so amazing, sishow am I this stupidI know we don't have the same mom, but how can the gap be this bigif I'd grown up tough on the outside like you did, I'd probably know how to try harder

Every face in the room shifted.

Grown up tough on the outside.

Five words, and the bomb went off.

All eyes turned to Bridget.

That delicate, pitiable expression of hers froze solid.

The whispers started spreading fastAthena Swanson had a half-sister, born from her dad's affair. She didn't resent her at all, went out of her way to protect her. And this sister apparently didn't know how good she had it.

Who started the rumor? I had no idea.

Just gossip doing what gossip does.

Everything people passed around was true at the core. A little embellishment here, a little spin there, and it landed completely different.

I glanced at Bridget. Head down, doing her homework, her fingers white around the pen.

Sophomore year. Academic track selection.

She picked humanities. I picked sciences.

In my last life she'd picked humanities, and Dad made me pick humanities too, so she could tutor me.

I threw a fit. He slapped me back into line.

This time I brought it up firstDad, sis is great at humanities, so she should go that route. I'm better at sciences, so I'll take that. One of each in the family. When it's time to pick colleges, we can even compare notes.

It sounded reasonable enough that he didn't object.

Later, Mom told me Bridget had murmured to Dad that she wasn't used to being in a different class from her little sister.

Dad turned right around and told Mom to switch me to humanities.

Mom's exact wordsIs your daughter choosing an academic track or choosing to be a nanny? If Bridget can't adjust, she can learn to. Athena's supposed to revolve around her? Is Bridget paying her a salary?

Dad couldn't argue with that.

By the second half of junior year, we were finally placed in separate classes.

But I had no intention of letting her go.

In the spring semester of junior year, Bridget was elected vice chair of the Student Council Arts Committee.

In my previous life, she'd climbed one careful rung at a timestudent elections, the city's Outstanding Student award, scholarships, a top university. Every move landed exactly where it needed to.

Each time Dad praised her, he'd tack on a casualThea, you should really learn from your sister.

I couldn't block her path. The more accomplished she became, the pettier and more jealous I'd look if I tried.

Kill with kindness. That was the sharpest blade.

The day of the election, I arrived at the auditorium a full hour early and claimed the center seat in the front row.

When she took the stage to give her speech, I started clapping first, louder than anyone.

The moment she finished, I was on my feetBridget! Bridget James! That's my sister right there!

The whole auditorium laughed.

A faint blush crept across her faceThank you, sis. And thank you, everyone.

Unanimous vote.

I was the first one to rush up and throw my arms around herI knew you could do it!

A classmate nearby laughedAthena, anyone who didn't know better would think you were the one who won.

I grinnedMy sister winning makes me happier than if I'd won myself!

That night, walking home, she said it out of nowhereAthena, you don't have to do that every single time.

Do what?

Every time something happens to me, you make this big show of it. Her head was down, her voice thin and drifting. I know you don't mean it.

I stopped walking and looked at her.

Her face was half lit, half in shadow under the streetlamp, wearing that fragile, pitiable look of hers. Even while saying something like that, she managed to seem completely sincere.

I laughedWhat are you talking about? I'm your sister. If I'm not good to you, who else would I be good to?

She held my gaze for two full seconds, then turned her head away and said nothing more.

After that, she started avoiding me.

I brought snacks to her classroom door; she had a classmate relay the message that she was doing homework, bad timing. I asked her to go shopping on weekends; she said she had tutoring. I left a note on her desk that said You've got this; when I got home, the note had been taken away.

She was afraid of me.

That was so much more interesting than being hated.

The thing a person who plays the victim fears most isn't someone meaner than her. It's someone who plays the game better. She could never expose me, because the moment she tried, she'd be admitting she'd been performing all along too.

Senior year, everything blew up.

An ordinary Tuesday. Nothing about it stood out.

During evening study hall, my homeroom teacher pulled me out of classThea, something's happened at home.

By the time I got to the hospital, Dad was in the emergency room.

Mom sat in a hallway chair, her face blank.

Bridget stood in the corner, clutching her phone.

Heart attack. He collapsed at home out of nowhere. Your sister called the ambulance. That was all Mom said.

Tears streaked down Bridget's faceIt's my fault. I kept him up talking too late. He's been so swamped with work lately

I watched those tears, and something wrong shot through me like a jolt.

Dad's health had always been decent. High blood pressure, sure, but he took his medication on schedule and never missed a checkup.

In my previous life he'd lived past seventy, traveled to Sanya with Bridget, and came back raving about what a filial daughter she was.

So why, in this life, a sudden heart attack?

I didn't ask.

In front of the doctors and nurses, I gave them exactly the worried, anxious daughter they expected.

I held Bridget's hand and told her, It's not your fault. Don't blame yourself. Under my comfort, she only cried harder.

At four in the morning, Dad was out of danger.

The doctor said another half hour and the outcome might have been very different.

Mom let out a long, shaking breath. Her hands were trembling, and there was no color left in her lips.

I told her to go home and rest. She shook her head and said she wasn't tired.

But I noticed her sitting by the bed, the back of her head resting against the chair, eyes closed for a very long time.

I thought she was just tired.

Later I learned what it actually wasthe early signs of a subarachnoid hemorrhage.

When I got home, the ashtray on the living room coffee table was full of cigarette butts.

My father had quit smoking five years ago.