Chapter 3

My RA, bless her persistent heart, called Michael again.

I saw him flinch when his phone rang, his head snapping up from watching Chloe through the ICU window.

He snatched it from his pocket, glanced at the caller ID.

His face darkened.

"What NOW?" he snarled into the phone, not even bothering with a greeting.

The RA's voice was frantic, high-pitched. I could almost hear it, a faint vibration in the air around him.

"Dr. Miller, you need to come! Sarah collapsed! The paramedics are here! They're saying it's critical!"

Michael's knuckles were white as he gripped the phone.

His voice was ice.

"Fine! If she dies, text me the morgue details!"

He hung up, his chest heaving.

He actually said that.

To the RA.

About me.

His sister.

Later, Dr. Peterson found him again, his expression troubled.

"Michael, I need to talk to you about Sarah."

Michael didn't even turn.

"There's nothing to talk about."

"She's your only blood kin left, Michael. Your parents would want..."

Michael cut him off, his voice sharp as broken glass.

"Chloe is the sister I choose. Sarah means nothing to me."

He turned then, his eyes blazing with a cold fire.

"Chloe needs me. Sarah is just... a burden. Always has been."

A burden.

That's all I ever was to him after our parents died.

He walked away from Dr. Peterson, back to his vigil at Chloe's window.

I watched him take out his phone again, not to call the university, but to call his own clinic.

"Cancel my appointments for the rest of the week," he instructed his receptionist. "And postpone all non-critical surgeries. I need to be here."

Here for Chloe.

This from the man who once lectured me for an hour about responsibility when I missed a single part-time shift because I had a fever.

He'd said, "Commitments matter, Sarah. People depend on you. You don't just abandon your duties."

Apparently, those rules didn't apply when it came to Chloe.

His principles, like his compassion for me, were entirely conditional.

Or perhaps, just non-existent where I was concerned.

The sorrow I felt was a heavy, suffocating blanket.

Even as a spirit, the pain of his rejection was immense.