The Countdown to My Sister's Miracle

Everyone in my family was born with an ability: we could see a number floating above other people's heads. It showed exactly how many times we had left to see them. The number above my sister Chloe's head had always been terrifyingly small. Chloe was adopted, brought into our family as an infant before I was born. But everyone knew she was supposed to die on Thanksgiving this year. Because of that, the entire family treated her like fragile glass. Every time they saw her, they gave her the absolute best of everything. Even after I was found and brought back home, I was expected to yield to her in every single thing. I could only watch from the sidelines as Chloe wore gorgeous dresses, ate the best treats, went on trips with Mom and Dad, and nestled into their arms without a care in the world. Whenever I tried to get close, I was scolded for being selfish and inconsiderate. Until Thanksgiving day arrived. All I did was lightly touch Chloe's new designer dress. She got upset, locked herself in her bedroom, and refused to come out. Enraged, my parents dragged me down to the freezing basement storage room, completely ignoring the fact that I was burning up with a high fever. Mom glared at me through the crack of the door, her voice full of blame. "Haven't we been good to you? Why do you always have to make your sister miserable?" I banged weakly on the heavy door, desperate to tell them how sick I felt, how badly my head pounded. Outside, the footsteps faded into total silence. And then, my vision went completely dark. Suddenly, my body felt weightless. When I lifted my head, I saw the warm, glowing light spilling across the living room upstairs. "Mom, Dad, is Mia really going to be okay?" Chloe’s voice was soft, laced with a heavy sniffle. "I heard her crying down there, saying her head hurt..." "I'm totally fine now. Please don't fight with her because of me." Chloe was wearing that brand-new pink dress, shimmering with tiny crystals. It was so beautiful—a dress I had never been allowed to touch. "Don't worry about her," Mom consoled her softly, reaching out to stroke Chloe’s cheek and gently brushing away the stray hairs on her forehead. "Exactly. She doesn't have a fever—she's just faking it to steal the spotlight," Dad added, his tone dripping with annoyance. "She has no shame, pulling a tantrum on today of all days." I drifted toward Chloe, wanting to grab her hand, wanting to tell her that I really was sick, that my head hurt so much it felt like it was splitting open. Because Chloe was perhaps the only person in this house who ever showed me any kindness. Ever since I was brought back to this family, every ounce of favor had been showered entirely on her. I had to beg just for a warm bowl of soup, let alone new clothes or toys. Chloe would sometimes share her food and sneak toys to me. But whenever we tried to talk, Mom and Dad would immediately step in, convinced I was bullying her or stressing her out. I needed her to help me. I reached out, but my hand passed straight through her body, as if she were made of thin mist. I froze in mid-air, staring blankly at my own translucent fingers. I turned around, drifting back down toward the tightly shut wooden door of the basement storage room. Underneath the door frame, it was pitch black. I floated straight through the wood. There I was, curled up among the dusty boxes and clutter, motionless. I was dead. "That's great," I thought hollowly. "Now no one will ruin Chloe's Thanksgiving dinner." None of them could hear a word I said. Upstairs, Mom kept gently patting Chloe’s back. "Just focus on enjoying Thanksgiving tomorrow, honey. Don't let her ruin your mood." Chloe pressed her lips together and stayed quiet, but her brow furrowed tighter. Mom sighed, her eyes brimming with sheer pity. "Stop defending her. Ever since we brought her home, she's been jealous of you. She can't stand seeing you happy. Did you forget what she did at your honor roll party last year?" Chloe's party—the one I ruined. The house had been elaborately decorated that day, complete with a massive custom cake topped with delicate candles. Mom had carefully lit them, while Dad held up his phone, desperately trying to capture every fleeting milestone Chloe had left. I wasn't allowed in the room. I had to hide behind the door, watching the candlelight dance across Chloe's face, watching her unwrap gifts, watching our parents hold back their tears. The overwhelming unfairness and heartbreak consumed me. I had lost my mind and charged out. I knocked the cake off the table. Sweet cream splattered everywhere across the hardwood floor, and the candles rolled into the corner, flickering out. "Why do you only care about her?!" I had screamed, breaking down completely. I still remembered the look in my parents' eyes that day—pure disappointment and disgust. When Dad's hand struck my face, I didn't even flinch. One slap, two, three... Mom stood by, crying, but she never once tried to stop him. It was Chloe who had grabbed Dad's arm. "Stop hitting Mia! Dad, please stop!" Her voice had trembled violently, but she held on tight. That night, Chloe sneaked into my room and pressed half a smashed piece of cake into my hands. "Mia, I'm sorry," she whispered, her fingers gently hovering over my swollen cheek. "I won't be around much longer anyway. Soon... no one will ever take anything from you again." I hadn't wanted to talk to her back then. I just told her to get out. I faintly remembered eating that slice of cake in the dark. It tasted salty, soaked in my own tears. Back in the living room, Mom was still stroking Chloe's hair. "Chloe, ignore her," Mom murmured, exhaustion in her voice. "That girl has been selfish and resentful ever since she returned. You know how she is." I hovered there, numb. Yes, I had been jealous of Chloe. I was jealous that she got all the love, jealous of her pretty dresses, jealous that when she had a slight cold, Mom would stay by her bedside all night. I was jealous that even though her remaining time was so short, she was still their treasured darling. And even now, I was still jealous. Because up until the moment I drew my last breath, I had never once been loved.The truth was, I hadn't always hated Chloe. I just wanted someone to love me, too. Yet every single good thing was reserved for her. Especially during holidays, when Chloe would receive double of everything, and I got nothing. A few Thanksgivings ago, before they started locking me away, Mom had roasted a huge turkey. Two golden-brown drumsticks sat perfectly right on top. At the dinner table, Mom carefully placed both drumsticks onto Chloe's plate. "Eat up, Chloe. You need your strength." I looked down at my own plate, which held only a few pieces of boiled greens. Tears spilled over my eyelashes. "Why does she get both drumsticks? I want one too! I want a drumstick!" Dad slammed his fork onto the table with a deafening clatter. "Mia! How can you be so selfish?!" He stood up, his face dark with fury. "Don't you know your sister's health is failing? Don't you know she's..." He choked on the words, unable to finish. I didn't know. All I knew was that Chloe was always pale, that she coughed sometimes, and that our parents looked at her with deep, agonizing sorrow. I didn't understand what any of it meant back then. "Why does she get everything?!" I screamed, jumping off my chair and pointing directly at Chloe. "Why do I get nothing? Give me back what belongs to me!" Chloe burst into tears instantly, fat drops splashing right into her food. Mom shot out of her seat and slapped me across the face so hard my head whipped around. That was the first time she had hit me like that. Chloe tried to intervene, but Dad held her back. "She needs to learn her lesson! She needs to understand what she can and cannot say!" The next afternoon, I overheard Mom and Dad whispering in the kitchen. "She doesn't have many encounters left with us," Mom sobbed quietly. "I know," Dad choked out, his voice hoarse. That was the moment I finally understood: Chloe and our family only had one meeting left. Those invisible numbers floating above people's heads were a countdown of how many times we would ever see them again. My whole family had known all along that this Thanksgiving would be Chloe's final day. That was why all the precious gifts went to Chloe. The stunning clothes went to Chloe. Even when Mom sliced an apple, the bigger half went to Chloe, and the scrap went to me. Bedtime stories were Chloe's, too. Mom's voice was always so tender when she read "The Little Prince" or fairy tales about the stars and the moon. Stories meant strictly for Chloe. I used to press my ear against the crack of the door, listening to Mom whisper, "Chloe, what story do you want tonight?" "The Little Mermaid," Chloe would answer softly. Mom would begin reading, her tone softer than she had ever used with me. I would sit outside in the dark hallway, hugging my knees, soaking in those beautiful words, feeling a sharp ache squeeze my chest. Why couldn't she read them to me, just once? In the living room, Mom and Dad wiped their red-rimmed eyes and gently escorted Chloe back to her bedroom. Watching them, a bitter pang struck my chest. "Maybe... we should let Mia out now," Dad muttered quietly. Mom fell silent for a long time. "Let her stay there a bit longer," Mom finally whispered, her voice heavy with weariness. "Let Chloe have a peaceful, perfect Thanksgiving. Just this one day. It's her last." Mom rubbed her wet eyes. "Mia will understand," she murmured, trying to convince herself. "Once Chloe is gone... we will make it all up to Mia. I swear we will." Dad didn't argue. He walked into the kitchen, grabbed a small roll of bread from the counter, and walked toward the basement stairs. "Mom, Dad... I don't have a tomorrow anymore.""Mia." Dad tapped lightly on the wooden door. "I brought you some bread. Eat something, okay? Don't starve yourself." I floated right in front of him, reaching out toward the bread. "Dad, I'm right here. I died. Please, just open the door and look at me." "Mia?" he called out again. I reached out to touch his face, but my hand swept straight through his cheek. "Sigh." Dad let out a disappointed breath, straightening up. "Still pouting, huh?" He knelt back down and shoved the bread underneath the crack of the door. "Just stay quiet in there and stop throwing tantrums. Once your sister is gone... I promise I'll make it up to you." He never opened the door to check on me. I watched his retreating back and whispered softly, "You don't have to, Dad. You don't ever have to make it up to me." Because you will never get the chance. After Dad left, the hallway fell dead silent again. A moment later, light footsteps padded across the floorboards. Mom came out of Chloe's room and stopped right where Dad had stood, directly outside the storage room. "Mia," she murmured, her voice tight. "Don't hate me, okay?" "I know you feel wronged," she went on, her nails absently picking at a splinter on the door frame. "But Chloe only has today left. Just let her have this. Let her go peacefully, can't you do that much?" I drifted in front of her. Her eyelashes were damp. She quickly dabbed at her eyes, terrified of showing weakness. "Once your sister is gone, I'll buy you that whole bakery cake you've always wanted. The entire thing, just for you," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I'll buy you new dresses with all the sparkles you love. You wanted to go to the ski resort, right? You said everyone at school had been except you. I'll take you there. We'll ride the gondola together." A tear slipped from her eye, soaking into the dry wood of the floor. "Mom promises you all of it. Everything. So please, just for today... don't make a scene, okay?" I reached out, wishing I could wipe her tear away. She waited. Inside the storage room, there was only crushing silence. The sorrow on Mom's face slowly twisted into cold irritation. "Still giving me the silent treatment? Didn't you hear what I just promised you?" "No, Mom, I'm not giving you the silent treatment," I wanted to scream, but she couldn't hear. "You really are ungrateful," she muttered bitterly, tears choking her throat. "You never think about your parents for a single second. Raising you was completely pointless!" She spun around and stomped off, her posture stiff and tense. Dusk fell, painting the sky in deep shades of purple and gray. Just as Mom walked back into the living room, the doorbell rang. It was Grandma. My eyes lit up. Every time Grandma visited, she brought me presents—even if Mom usually ended up handing them over to Chloe. Grandma was the only person who actually remembered the things I liked. She walked in carrying a bulging canvas tote bag. Seeing Mom, she managed a faint, sorrowful smile. "Mom, what are you doing here?" Mom asked, surprised, quickly stepping aside to let her in. "I came to see Chloe," Grandma said, her voice raspy. She set the tote bag on the dining table, pulling out crisp red apples and a box of pastries. "Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I... I had to see her." "Chloe is resting in her room," Mom said, taking the groceries from her. "Have a seat, I'll go get her." "No, don't wake her. Let her rest." Grandma sat down on the sofa, glancing around the empty living room. Her eyebrows knit together. "Where's Mia? Why haven't I seen Mia?"Mom's expression stiffened instantly. "She's... she's playing in her room," Mom lied, dodging Grandma's piercing gaze. Grandma didn't say anything, just stared at her daughter. "Well, that's fine. I'll go see her," Grandma said, her tone dipping low as she sensed something was off. "Mom!" Mom rushed forward, physically blocking her path. "Where is Mia? Tell me right now!" Grandma demanded, her voice rising. "Mia was... throwing another tantrum. I put her in the basement storage room to reflect on her behavior." Grandma froze. "What did you just say?" she asked, pronouncing every single word with utter disbelief. "You locked Mia in the basement storage room?" "You know tomorrow is Thanksgiving..." Mom’s voice dwindled down to a guilty murmur. "Sarah!" Grandma’s voice shook violently. "Mia is your daughter, too!" Grandma’s face fell completely. She lunged toward the basement door, but her knees buckled from moving too fast. Mom reached out to catch her, but Grandma violently shoved her hands away. Mom opened her mouth to explain, but Grandma cut her off fiercely. "Yes, I know Chloe’s life is tragically short! I know your hearts bleed for her, and you want to give her everything so she has a happy Thanksgiving!" Grandma’s voice cracked, tears shimmering in her eyes. "But what about Mia? Has Mia's life been easy?! She spent years growing up with strangers before you brought her back! What has she ever received in this house? Absolutely nothing!" "That poor child has lived off her sister's scraps! And over a single holiday, you actually locked her in a freezing basement storage room?!" "Mom, I didn't..." Mom stammered, pale and deflated. "Both of those girls are innocent children! Both of them!" Grandma sobbed. "And what about you two? As her parents, don't you owe Mia anything? Does she not deserve a single shred of your love?!" Mom slumped into a chair, burying her face in her hands as her shoulders shook uncontrollably. "And now, you won't even let the sisters see each other one last time?" Grandma's voice turned hoarse. "Mia only had one meeting left with you people! How do you expect her to leave? Full of regret and heartbreak?!" "I... I didn't mean to..." Mom wept through her fingers. "I just wanted Chloe's last day to be peaceful. I didn't want Mia picking fights..." "Picking fights? In all these years, have you ever once truly listened to what Mia wanted?!" I drifted beside Grandma, feeling a burning sensation in my eyes. "Someone understood." Someone finally understood me. Ignoring Mom, Grandma walked over to the basement door. She crouched down, whispering toward the dark crack beneath the frame, "Mia, Grandma is right here with you. Don't be scared, sweetheart." My tears fell freely. I wanted nothing more than to curl into her lap, but my arms passed straight through her back. Even Grandma didn't unlock the door. Because everyone wanted this final day to belong solely to Chloe. Minutes turned into hours. The candles burned down to melted wax, plunging the house into darkness. Outside, the sky turned a pale, watery gray. The very first beam of dawn filtered through the window, resting on the wooden floor. Grandma stood up stiffly and walked over to Chloe's bedroom door. She raised her hand to knock, but paused mid-air. After a long hesitation, she called out softly, "Chloe, it's time to wake up." A quiet rustle came from inside. The door creaked open. "Grandma, Mom, Dad," Chloe murmured, offering a faint, timid smile. Mom gasped, lunging forward to crush Chloe in a desperate embrace, holding her as though trying to fuse her into her very bones. Dad hurried over too, his trembling hands gently stroking Chloe's hair. "Chloe..." Mom sobbed, completely wrecked. "I'm okay, Mom," Chloe said gently, patting Mom's back. "I'm really okay." Grandma stood to the side, watching in silence. Suddenly, her eyes widened as realization struck, and she spun around toward the basement stairs. "Mia!" Her voice echoed sharply through the quiet morning. "Hurry, let Mia out!" Only then did my parents snap out of it. Joy washed over their tear-stained faces. "Yes, yes! Let Mia out! She's still in the basement!" "Her sister is alive! It's a miracle, an absolute miracle!" Mom held Chloe's hand, while Dad rushed down the stairs ahead of them. The three of them raced toward the storage room door, smiles lighting up their faces. Dad reached for the handle and pushed the door open. In an instant, the color drained completely from his face. He violently yanked his hand back, staggering backward. "No... wait... Why is it zero?"