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I Took Away My Sister's Most Precious Thing And Thus Regretted It For The Rest of My Life-8

"I Hate You!"
Her small body shook violently. She stumbled back as if I were poison. Throwing her head back, she screamed with every ounce of her being, a sound that tore the air: "I — HATE — YOU!" The words branded themselves onto my heart. The scream spent, she turned and fled, her small form vanishing into her room. The door slammed shut with a final, echoing *BANG!* I stood rooted, the terrible "I hate you" ringing in my ears, the closed door a stark refusal. The world seemed drained of color and sound.


The Closed Door
The image of the empty dumpster returned. The door remained shut. Inside, Lily's muffled, broken sobs ebbed and flowed like a wounded animal's whimper. I stood frozen in the living room for a long time, limbs icy. Several times, I gathered courage to approach her door, hand lifting only to drop. I couldn't knock. Her cries, the three words—they replayed relentlessly, each echo deepening the pit inside.


Silent Breakfast
Breakfast the next morning was icy. Mom, likely knowing what happened, looked grim, silently serving oatmeal. Lily, eyes still swollen, stared at her bowl, mechanically spooning it in, never lifting her gaze to me. I focused on my own tasteless gruel. Only the soft scrape of spoons against bowls broke the silence.

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