Chapter 6

Back home, from the corner of his eye, Noah caught Emily bowing her head without a word. A "tch" escaped him before he could stop it. Noah wanted to slap himself. That wasn't what he meant to say.

Sophia hid her smirk, thinking to herself: "Emily is so stupid. She isn't even worth the effort of dealing with—she'll ruin herself."

Seeing Sophia's smug expression, Daniel's eyes darkened.

He wanted to say something—that their parents were being too harsh on their biological sister.

But the words stuck in his throat. They always did.

Because speaking up meant going against the family. Against the sixteen-year consensus that Sophia was the center of their universe.

That evening, Daniel sat in his dark room, the blue light of his monitors casting shadows across his face. His stream chat was going wild, but he wasn't playing.

He was looking at the security footage from the kitchen.

3:17 AM. Emily, hunched over the sink, vomiting blood.

He watched it three times.

Then he opened a private browser and searched: "stomach cancer symptoms progression stage three."

The results made him want to throw his keyboard through the wall.

He messaged Noah Miller instead.

Daniel: How bad is it?

Noah: She has months. Maybe less.

Noah: And she won't let me tell anyone.

Daniel: I know.

Noah: Your family is going to find out eventually. When she collapses. Or worse.

Daniel: I know.

Noah: So what are you going to do?

Daniel stared at the blinking cursor for a full minute.

Daniel: Whatever she lets me.

The next morning, a first-aid kit appeared outside Emily's door. And a heated blanket. And a bag of the gentle, non-acidic snacks that Dr. Evans had recommended.

No note. No fanfare.

Emily looked at the items, then down the hallway toward Daniel's room.

His door was closed. His stream was running. The sound of keyboard clicks leaked through the gap.

She picked everything up and carried it inside.

In the kitchen that night, Maria the housekeeper found something she hadn't seen in months: Emily's bowl in the sink.

She'd eaten.

Not much. But she'd eaten.

Maria pressed her hand to her mouth and cried quietly into the dishrag.

She was the only one in this house who had ever treated Emily like a daughter. But she was just the help. She had no power here.

All she could do was make sure there was always warm soup on the stove.

And hope that someone in this family would wake up before it was too late.