Chapter 1: Erasing Me for Her

After my sister died unexpectedly, it was like she slipped right inside me—like we started sharing the same skin, the same heartbeat. I never saw it coming. One day I was alone, and then suddenly... I wasn’t. I remember just staring at my hands, wondering if they were still mine.

At first, Mom and Dad didn’t believe a word of it.

They’d eye me like I was spinning wild stories, their faces tight with worry and disbelief. Dad would pace the living room, rubbing the back of his neck, while Mom just stared, searching my face for some sign that I was still the daughter she knew. The silence in the house was heavy. It felt like we were all holding our breath, just waiting for something—anything—to change.

Later on, they got used to us switching.

Eventually, the weirdness became part of the routine. Mom would ask, “Is it you, Maddie, or is it Lila today?” as she poured the morning coffee—her voice shaky at first, but getting steadier with each day. Dad would sigh and shake his head, but he started leaving two sets of notes on the fridge—one for me, one for Lila. It was weird—no doubt about it—but it was ours.

And then one day, they brought in a hypnotherapist—to erase me.

I lost it. I tore through the house, smashing anything I could get my hands on.

It felt like something inside me snapped in half. I hurled picture frames, flipped chairs, sent books flying. My hands shook with rage and fear. The sound of shattering glass echoed off the walls—each crash a desperate plea, begging someone—anyone—to see me, to really see me.

The shattered pieces on the floor looked like my soul, scattered and crying out for help.

I stared at the mess, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my chest tight. Every jagged piece caught the light, reflecting the chaos inside me. It felt like I was standing in the middle of my own broken heart. No one cared enough to pick up the pieces. Not even me.

Mom covered her mouth, tears streaming down her face. Dad looked furious, but he didn’t stop me.

Mom’s mascara ran in inky rivers down her cheeks. She pressed her hand to her lips, shoulders shaking, but she didn’t move. Dad’s jaw was clenched so tight I thought his teeth might crack, his fists balled at his sides. He looked like he wanted to yell, but all he did was watch, silent and stormy.

I screamed at them, "Why? This is my body—why should I give it up to her?" For a second, the whole house seemed to freeze.

My voice ripped through the house, raw and sharp. I felt my throat burning, my words bouncing off the walls. I wanted them to hurt as much as I did, to finally listen.

Dad pressed his hand to his forehead, as if trying to make up his mind. "We’ve talked to a psychologist. You and Lila can’t go on like this. Neither of you can really live. So we have to erase one of you."

He sounded so tired, like he’d aged ten years overnight. His hand trembled as he spoke, and I realized he was scared, too. But that didn’t make what he was saying any less cruel.

"We’re suffering too. You’re our daughter as well. If there were any other way, we wouldn’t make this decision. Please try to understand us."

Mom’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but every word was heavy. She reached out, as if she wanted to touch me, but her hand fell short. For a second, I saw the mom who used to tuck me in at night, who’d sing to me when I was sick. Now she just looked lost.

I grabbed a mug and smashed it at Dad’s feet.

The mug exploded in a spray of blue and white shards, scattering across the floor like confetti at a funeral. I wanted him to flinch, to react, to see that I was still here—alive and fighting.

Ceramic shards flew. Dad flinched, ready to yell, then stopped himself—probably thinking about what he was asking me to do.

He stared at the broken pieces, his lips pressed in a thin line. For a moment, I thought he might finally break down, but he just let out a shaky breath and looked away. The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on.

"I get it, but who gets me? You’re in pain, you’re out of options, so I have to die? This is my body to begin with! If anyone should disappear, it should be her—Lila."

The words tumbled out, hot and bitter. My fists clenched so tight my nails dug into my palms. I felt like a stranger in my own skin, fighting for the right to exist.

Anger and despair wrapped around me. I couldn’t make sense of it. Just days ago, Mom and Dad had been so loving, and now they wanted to erase me.

Something inside them had changed. The warmth in their eyes was gone, replaced by something cold and desperate. I wondered if I’d ever really belonged here, or if I was just a placeholder for the daughter they lost.

Mom started sobbing, but Dad frowned and corrected me, "Don’t talk about dying. Your sister will live in your body for you. Whether you agree or not, that’s how it’s going to be."

His words felt like a slap. Mom’s sobs grew louder, echoing through the house. Dad looked at me with a mix of anger and pity, like I was the one being unreasonable.

He’d lost all patience and dragged Mom out the door.

I heard the front door slam, the sound echoing through the empty house. Their footsteps faded down the hallway, leaving me alone with the mess and my own racing thoughts.

I trashed the house again, then collapsed on the floor, exhausted. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, breath shaking. The question echoed in my head for what felt like forever:

Why me?