Chapter 3: A Sister’s Shadow

That year, I spent my days being beaten.

The days blurred together—chores, crying, the sting of Dad's hand. I learned to move quietly, to make myself invisible.

If my brother cried, I got hit.

Even if it wasn't my fault, even if Jamie was just cranky. The rules didn't matter—only the outcome. Sometimes I'd wonder, Why me?

If he wet himself, I got hit.

I'd change his diapers, clean up the mess, and still get blamed. My hands were always chapped from scrubbing. I tried to do better, but it never mattered.

If he fell, I got hit.

I tried to keep him safe, but kids fall. Dad didn't care. Every bruise on Jamie was my fault. Each time, I braced myself.

If he caught a cold, I got hit.

I'd stay up all night wiping his forehead, but if he sneezed, I paid for it. I learned to dread every cough. My stomach twisted every time he sniffled.

Dad's beatings hurt. I was terrified of him.

I flinched at every loud noise, every sudden movement. My body learned to brace itself, even before the blow landed.

Whenever he raised his arm, I'd flinch instinctively.

Even if he was just stretching or swatting a fly, I'd duck. Sometimes he'd laugh at me for it. The laughter stung almost as much as the hits.

To avoid getting hit, I tiptoed around Jamie, turning myself into his all-purpose servant.

I learned to read his moods, to guess what he wanted before he asked. I was more like his shadow than his sister. Always behind him. Always waiting.

With just a glance, I knew what he wanted.

If he wanted juice, I got it. If he wanted a toy, I fetched it. I memorized every signal, every whine, every pout.

Whatever Jamie asked for, I had to make it happen, because he could tattle now.

He'd run to Mom or Dad, tears in his eyes, and I'd be in trouble—no questions asked.

Every time he complained, I got punched and kicked.

The bruises never faded. I learned to hide them under long sleeves, to pretend nothing was wrong at school or church.

One day, Jamie saw someone riding a horse on TV and started shouting that he wanted to ride too.

He pressed his face to the screen, bouncing up and down. "Horsey! Horsey!" he yelled, eyes wide with excitement. He was relentless.

"Stupid girl, get down and let him ride!" Dad barked at me.

His voice was sharp, no room for argument. I dropped to my hands and knees, heart pounding.

His fierce glare made my heart jump. I dropped to the floor at once. My knees dug into the carpet.

Jamie scrambled onto my back, giggling. I winced at his weight but didn't dare complain.

Jamie climbed on my back, cheering, "Giddyup! Giddyup!"

He kicked his heels into my sides, just like the cowboy on TV. Dad watched, arms crossed, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Good boy! So smart! Looks just like a real rider!" Dad gave him a thumbs up.

Mom clapped, laughing like it was the cutest thing she'd ever seen. I kept crawling, knees aching.

Mom laughed too. "Jamie's so clever—he can ride a horse at his age!"

She snapped a picture on her old flip phone, probably to show off to her friends later.

"What are you waiting for? Move!" Dad shouted again.

I crawled faster, biting my lip. Jamie whooped, waving an imaginary lasso.

I crawled on the ground with Jamie on my back, struggling under his weight, but too scared to complain.

My knees throbbed, but I kept going. I didn't dare stop until Dad said so.

For a whole month, he was obsessed with riding me—even wanted to eat while sitting on my back. The bruises on my knees never faded. But I didn't dare say a word.

Thankfully, he eventually got tired of the game.

The relief was so great, I almost cried. But I didn't let myself. I just got up and kept moving.

There was a persimmon tree in our front yard.

Its branches stretched over the fence, heavy with fruit in late summer. Jamie liked to throw rocks at the branches, trying to knock the fruit down.

One day, while playing with Jamie, a ripe persimmon fell and hit me on the head.

The thud was sharp, making my ears ring. I yelped, clutching my head. It hurt. Bad.

Dazed, I cried out, "Ouch!"

Jamie burst out laughing, clapping his hands. He danced around me, shouting, "Fun! Fun!"

Jamie started giggling, clapping his hands and shouting, "Fun! Fun!"

His laughter was high and wild, echoing through the yard. I tried to laugh along, but tears stung my eyes.

Dad, chopping wood in the corner, saw it and rushed over, lifting Jamie high.

He swung Jamie around, grinning. "That's my boy! What did you see? Tell Daddy."

"Wow, my boy's so happy! What did you see? Tell Daddy."

Jamie pointed at me, then at the persimmon on the ground, clapping and laughing, "Fun!"

He could barely get the words out, he was laughing so hard.

Dad understood.

He turned to me, a strange glint in his eye. I took a step back, but he picked up the persimmon and tossed it in his hand.

He picked up the persimmon and threw it at my head.

I saw it coming. Too late. I ducked, but not fast enough. It grazed my ear, making me wince.

I dodged instinctively.

Jamie pouted, stomping his foot. "No! No!" he yelled, wanting to see me get hit again.

Jamie wasn't pleased and yelled, "No! No!"

He wanted to see me get hit again.

"Stupid girl, don't dodge!" Dad ordered.

His tone left no room for argument. I stood still, bracing myself.

He threw the persimmon again. This time, I didn't move. It hit me square on the forehead.

I tasted metal. The pain exploded, but I bit my tongue, refusing to cry. Jamie squealed with delight.

It was still hard and green—it hurt like hell, but I gritted my teeth.

I tasted blood, but forced a smile. Jamie clapped, shrieking with laughter.

Jamie giggled even louder, rolling on the ground with joy.

His laughter echoed through the yard, mixing with the caw of distant crows. Dad looked pleased.

“Son, you like this?” Dad picked up another persimmon. “I'll show you again.”

He tossed another, harder this time. The game went on until my arms were covered in welts and Jamie was breathless from laughing.

He kept pelting me, making Jamie laugh till he was gasping for air.

I stood there, taking it, because I didn't know what else to do.

"Come on, Jamie, you try." Dad handed him a persimmon.

Jamie gripped it with both hands, winding up like a pitcher. He missed by a mile, but Dad just laughed.

Jamie threw it, but it landed halfway.

He stomped his foot, frustrated. Tears welled up in his eyes.

He burst into tears, frustrated.

His face crumpled, and he threw himself onto the grass, wailing.

"Stupid girl, stand closer!" Dad barked. "No sense at all!"

I shuffled forward, heart pounding. Jamie grinned, winding up again.

I moved closer. This time, Jamie could hit me easily. He threw persimmons at me over and over, never getting bored.

Each hit stung, but I didn't dare move. I just took it, counting the minutes until it was over.