Page 58 of What Goes Around

Her expression darkened.

I curled the hair into my palm. “I’m really sorry. Must’ve misjudged. Happens.”

I gave her a small, obedient smile and slipped away before she could say anything else.

In my room, I pulled a ziplock bag from the drawer and slid the hair inside. I labeled it neatly, the way I had with the others.

Three more bags waited in the drawer.

Apple’s hair.

Dad’s.

Mine.

All labeled. All waiting.

The next day, I mailed the sealed envelope under a fake name. The company promised results in two weeks. I checked my email every night anyway. I didn’t know what truth I was chasing. I only knew I needed proof of something.

Anything.

While I waited, I buried myself in schoolwork.

It wasn’t difficult. I had already lived through this curriculum once.

Everything came back faster now. Sharper. Cleaner. My mind no longer tangled up in anxiety or second-guessing, no longer dulled by the constant need to keep the peace.

In my past life, I had learned to hold myself back.

To dim myself.

If I scored too high, Apple unraveled. Crying. Spiraling. She dragged the entire household down with her.

Dad was always at work, and when home, he hid in his office like the rest of us were an inconvenience.

Mom hovered around Apple like she was something fragile. Something that might shatter if left unattended.

When I brought home good grades, hoping for even a sliver of recognition, Mom barely looked at them.

Once, she even accused me of bragging.

“You know Apple didn’t do well. Why would you rub your score in her face?”

Everything revolved around Apple.

Her emotions dictated the house.

If she was sad, the air turned heavy and quiet.

If she was anxious, everyone walked on eggshells.

If she woke screaming from nightmares, those sharp, piercing cries of Mommy, Daddy, save me, we all snapped awake like we were under attack.

I learned to disappear.

To make myself smaller. Quieter.

Easier to ignore.