Chapter 3

On the fifth day, the weather cleared.

Once the sun came out, the smell inside the house became absolutely horrific.

The heat and humidity accelerated decomposition. The stench mixed rotting flesh with the particular foulness of diseased organs.

Mom finally couldn't take it anymore and started cleaning the living room.

She cleaned while cursing under her breath.

"That damn Aria, who knows where she ran off to. Left the house looking like a garbage dump!"

A small brown medicine bottle rolled across the floor and blocked her mop.

It was my stomach medicine bottle.

When the pain got unbearable, I'd secretly used money from collecting recyclables to buy it. Cheap stuff, but it helped a little.

Mom read the label. Her face twisted with contempt.

"More of her fake sick act!"

She kicked the bottle away like it was trash, sending it rolling into a corner.

The bottle disappeared into the mud. Gone forever.

I wanted so badly to tell her: Mom, it really hurt. I wasn't faking.

But I could only watch helplessly.

The putrid smell in the air grew stronger and stronger.

Mom finally couldn't hold it in. She covered her nose and gagged.

"Did that slob Aria drag home garbage from the dumpsters?! Why does it stink so bad?!"

She cursed while searching for the source of the smell.

Jasmine emerged from her room, also covering her nose. That's when she spotted something poking out from under the shelving through the mud.

My swollen, purple fingers.

Jasmine's whole body jerked in fright, her face going deathly pale.

But she quickly recovered. Calmly, she used her foot to kick a floating piece of dirty wood over, covering my hand perfectly.

"Mom," she whined, hugging Margaret's arm,

"This smell is disgusting. Let's just go back to the hotel!"

"When Aria gets back, make her scrub every inch of this floor on her knees!"

Mom agreed immediately.

"Good idea. Let's go! Let her guard this garbage heap by herself!"

Before leaving, Mom seemed to remember something.

She went to the kitchen and locked all the crackers and bread from the cupboard into a metal box.

Then she opened the fridge and dumped everything inside—all the leftovers, even half a carton of milk—straight into the trash.

After finishing, she looked satisfied, like she'd gotten revenge. She dusted off her hands.

"Want to sneak back and steal food? Not a chance!"

I watched them throw away all that food, feeling nothing but numbness.

Once upon a time, those things had been "delicacies" I'd searched dumpsters for hours to find.

The door slammed shut.

It didn't just seal off that reeking space.

It severed the last thread of possibility that they might ever treat me like a human being.