Chapter 5

"Maybe we should actually take her to a child psychologist," Dad suggested gently, rubbing his hands together.

"I read online that with professional therapy, highly sensitive kids can learn to cope much better."

Mom raised her head, her face stained with tears.

"Therapy is three hundred dollars an hour, David. And Maya’s dance classes are coming up."

"We don't have that kind of money."

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And we can't keep asking Maya to make sacrifices for Christy."

"Hey," Dad said, a soft, weary smile appearing on his face.

"We don't sacrifice our kids' well-being. I can start driving for Uber or Doordash after work. That’ll bring in some extra cash."

"But your sales job is already so exhausting..." Mom said, her heart aching as she looked at the dark circles under his eyes.

"And I can take on some freelance bookkeeping clients," she added.

"We’ll make it work," Dad said, pulling her close. "As long as our girls grow up healthy and happy, a little extra work is nothing."

I threw myself into their embrace, crying. Even though I knew they couldn't feel me, I couldn't stop.

"It’s okay. I’m dead now. You don't have to spend money on my therapy anymore."

"With just Maya to take care of, you won't have to work yourselves to death."

My parents fell asleep holding each other on the couch. I squeezed myself between them, greedily soaking in the fleeting warmth of their presence.

The next morning, the sun shone brightly.

Mom woke up early, calling out for Maya and me to get ready. We were supposed to visit Grandma and Grandpa today.

"Christy, time to wake up and eat breakfast!"

Mom knocked on my door. No response.

"Are you still pouting?" Mom’s voice rose, but then she caught herself and softened her tone.

"I’m sorry, okay? Mom shouldn't have yelled at you yesterday."

The room remained dead silent.

"Christy, enough is enough!"

The lack of response pushed Mom over the edge. Her anger flared again.

"How can you hold a grudge like this? I only said a few words to you!"

"I’m your mother! Am I not even allowed to correct you?!"

A faint, metallic scent of copper began to drift through the air.

Losing her patience, Mom grabbed the doorknob and twisted it hard. "Christy, get your butt out of—"

Her voice cut off instantly.