Chapter 1 - THE BLUE CUP
Emma Carter hated the blue cup.
It was plastic, scratched around the rim, and always appeared after dinner.
Her father said it was Olivia’s medicine cup.
Emma thought it looked like something that belonged in a doctor’s office, not beside a plate of macaroni and cheese.
“Drink,” Michael Carter said.
Olivia stared at the cup.
“I don’t want it.”
Michael’s smile disappeared.
Emma sat across the kitchen table, hands tucked between her knees.
The twins were both seven, but Emma was eleven minutes older and had spent most of her life acting as though that meant something important.
“Daddy,” she said carefully, “Olivia says it makes her stomach hurt.”
Michael looked at her.
“Did I ask you?”
Emma lowered her eyes.
“No.”
“Then eat.”
Olivia lifted the cup.
Her hand trembled.
Michael watched until she swallowed.
Only then did he smile again.
“Good girl.”
He stood and carried the cup to the sink.
Emma watched him rinse it three times.
That was strange.
Michael did not rinse anything three times.
Not plates.
Not glasses.
Not even the coffee pot Mom used to complain about.
Mom.
Emma looked toward the empty chair at the end of the table.
Her mother, Laura Carter, had been gone for sixty-eight days.
Michael said she left.
He said she was confused.
He said she needed space.
Then he stopped saying anything at all.
Emma had learned not to ask.
Olivia slid off her chair and immediately grabbed her stomach.
“Emma.”
Michael turned.
“Bedroom.”
Olivia whispered, “It hurts.”
“You’re fine.”
“It really hurts.”
Michael walked toward her.
Emma stood.
“I’ll take her upstairs.”
Michael stopped.
For one second, Emma thought he would shout.
Instead, he nodded.
“Fine.”
Emma put Olivia’s arm around her shoulder.
They climbed the stairs slowly.
Inside their bedroom, Olivia lay down.
Emma pulled the blanket over her.
“Is it bad?”
Olivia nodded.
“I feel funny.”
Emma sat beside her.
“Like sleepy?”
“Like my heart is going too slow.”
Emma did not know what that meant.
She only knew it scared her.
Olivia reached into her hoodie pocket and pulled out a small empty plastic syringe.
Emma stared.
“Where did you get that?”
“Daddy dropped it yesterday.”
“You kept it?”
Olivia nodded.
“Why?”
“Because Mommy said if Daddy ever gave me medicine and she wasn’t here, I should keep the bottle.”
Emma’s stomach tightened.
“When did she say that?”
“The night before she disappeared.”
Emma stared at her sister.
They had never talked about that night.
Michael had told them Mom left while they were sleeping.
Olivia’s eyes filled.
“She came in my room.”
Emma whispered, “Mom did?”
Olivia nodded.
“She said she was scared.”
Emma felt cold.
“Scared of what?”
Olivia looked toward the closed bedroom door.
Then whispered:
“Daddy.”
Downstairs, a floorboard creaked.
The girls went silent.
Michael’s footsteps began climbing the stairs.
Olivia shoved the syringe into Emma’s hand.
Emma looked around desperately.
Then pushed it deep inside her worn sneaker.
Michael opened the door.
May you like
His eyes went directly to Emma.
“What are you hiding?”
