Compared to my younger brother, I’ve always been the more sensible one. I understood that my parents had to work hard to earn money—bring food to the table. I was considerate, curling myself inside a suitcase to save them the cost of a train ticket. I made every effort to stay silent, ensuring the ticket inspector wouldn’t catch me sneaking onto the train.
But what did being sensible ever get me? I was still forgotten in that cold, dark suitcase. And all I ever earned was: “That girl was handy. She killed her brother trying to snatch his toy.”
So this time, I refuse to be sensible.
I shook my head and feigned confusion. “Why not put Jodi in the suitcase instead? He is smaller than mine. Wouldn’t it be better if he went?”
A flicker of panic crossed my mom’s face. But the thought of me, her always-obedient daughter, suddenly daring to talk back turned her expression into one of irritation.
“How could you be so heartless? Your brother is young and the trip would take thirty hours. What if he suffers inside the suitcase? What if something happens to him?”
I chuckled bitterly. So, they do know what can happen when I’m trapped in a confined space for too long.
“Exactly. You knew he would suffer if he’s put in that suitcase. You think I won’t? You don’t care if anything happens to me, do you?” I asked.
Her brows knit into a sharp frown.
“You should know better! You’re older. Shouldn’t an older sister make sacrifices for her younger brother? Or do you really want him to suffer on your behalf?”
My nose stung as tears threatened to fall. The money saved by sneaking me into the suitcase had gone to buy my brother a new pair of sneakers. And now she was saying I’m the one making him suffer?
Memories surfaced—Dad, drunk and furious, storming into the house with a belt in hand, ready to lash out at my brother for playing video games instead of doing homework. Mom desperately clinging to his legs to stop him, only to be kicked aside. I shielded her, my heart aching for her safety.
In the end, Dad unleashed all his anger on me instead. That night, he hurled an ashtray at my head, leaving a deep gash. Dark red blood gushed from the wound as I lay crumpled in the corner of the bathroom, barely breathing, like a broken rag doll.
But Mom? She was too busy comforting my brother, who clutched his video game console, to spare me even a glance.
This time, I wasn’t going to suffer for anyone anymore.
Taking a breath, I said calmly, “The money saved from my ticket was used to buy Jodi new sneakers, right? Isn’t it fair that he’s the one put in the suitcase?”
Mom froze, clearly not expecting me to point that out.
Beside her, my brother, thinking it was all a game, chimed in, “Yes, I can do it. I’ll hide in the suitcase. I’m a man and I’m not scared of the dark. Not like Alma.”
I let out a quiet sigh of relief. This time, he would taste the despair I had endured in my past life. But Mom wasn’t having it. She shot him a stern look.
“You stay out of this, Jodi Crowlie. The adults are talking. Go to your room and do your homework!”
Then she turned back to me, her eyes locking onto mine, trying to guilt me into stepping up.
When I didn’t budge, she resorted to her usual tactic: “See that? See how sensible your little brother is? You’re always fussing over small things. Boys are indeed better than girls.”
That line had always shackled me before. I’d longed for them to notice me, even just a little, while they poured all their love into my brother. But in my last life, I paid with my life for their fleeting attention.
This time, I wouldn’t make the same mistake. When I still didn’t respond, Mom sighed heavily.
“You’ve really disappointed me, Alma.”
I stayed silent, retreating to my room. Quietly, I packed my things, ready to join them on the train back to our hometown tomorrow. There wasn’t much to pack. I barely owned any clothes.
