Caleb stood frozen in the dimly lit attic, the small medicine bottle burning in his grip like a cruel revelation. The label wasn’t a mistake. The name was clear—Elyra’s name. And the words printed underneath it shattered something inside him.

Chemotherapy Treatment – Stage IV Cancer

His breath hitched. His heart pounded violently, as if his body refused to accept what his eyes were seeing. Cancer. The sister he had spent years resenting, blaming, hurting—was dying.

The wooden floor creaked beneath him as Elyra stirred in her bed, her fragile frame shifting slightly under the thin blanket. Her breathing was shallow, uneven, as if every breath was a battle. In the dim light, he saw the truth he had ignored for so long.

The hollowness in her cheeks. The sharpness of her bones pressing against her skin. The unnatural paleness, the way her lips had lost all color. How had he never noticed?

No. He had noticed.

He had just never cared.

Caleb clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the bottle. Fourteen days. She had fourteen days left—if even that. The thought sent a sharp wave of nausea through him. He wanted to wake her up, to shake her, to demand why she never told anyone.

But he already knew the answer.

Because none of them would have cared.

A sickening weight pressed against his chest. His own words from years of cruelty echoed in his head.

"You should have died instead."

"You're nothing but a burden."

"I wish you never existed."

God. How many times had he said those things? How many times had he and his parents made her life a living hell, forcing her to clean, to suffer, to endure their hate—while she was dying?

A bitter lump formed in his throat. His vision blurred, but he refused to let the tears fall. Not yet.

He turned away and left the attic, gripping the medicine bottle so tightly his knuckles turned white.

The next morning, Caleb couldn’t focus. Not on breakfast, not on his mother’s usual scornful remarks, not on anything. His mind was stuck on the attic. On Elyra.

Across the table, their mother sneered at Elyra as she stood silently by the counter, washing the dishes. She looked even weaker under the morning light, her body trembling slightly as she reached for another plate. But no one else noticed.

No one else cared.

"You’re slow," their mother snapped. "You want to eat in this house? Work for it."

Caleb flinched. He had heard those words before, countless times. And he had laughed. He had agreed. He had made things worse.

Not this time.

Before he could stop himself, he slammed his fork down. The sharp sound silenced the room. Their mother turned to him with a scowl.

"What the hell is your problem?" she asked.

Caleb swallowed hard, his fingers tightening into fists. He looked at Elyra, who stood still, her head bowed, waiting for the next insult.

His chest ached. She wasn’t going to fight back. She never did.

He took a breath. "Nothing," he muttered, looking away. "Just… not hungry."

His father grunted, uninterested, turning another page of his newspaper. His mother rolled her eyes.

"Then get out of my sight," she snapped.

Caleb didn’t need to be told twice. He stood up, hesitating only once before heading straight for the attic.

Elyra found Caleb sitting on her bed when she entered her room that night. Her heart clenched in panic. He had never come here before.

Her first thought was that he had found something to use against her. Maybe another way to make her life worse.

She swallowed hard. "What are you doing here?"

Caleb didn’t look at her. Instead, he held up the small bottle of medicine—the one she thought was hidden.

Her blood ran cold.

"Explain," he said, his voice unreadable.

Elyra’s hands trembled. She wanted to lie. To pretend it was nothing. But she was too tired. Too weak.

Instead, she sighed, stepping closer. "You already know."

The silence between them was suffocating.

Caleb exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "Cancer," he muttered, as if saying it out loud would make it more real. "How long?"

Elyra hesitated before answering. "Two weeks. Maybe less."

Caleb’s stomach twisted painfully. He felt like the air had been stolen from his lungs. Two weeks. That was all she had left.

He looked at her again—really looked. Her frame was so small now, her shoulders barely able to hold her weight. The sister he had ignored for so long was disappearing right in front of him.

And it was too late.

His throat tightened. "Why… Why didn’t you tell anyone?"

Elyra let out a hollow laugh. It wasn’t bitter or resentful. Just… empty. "And what would that have changed?"

Caleb flinched. He had no answer.

She was right.

He had spent years treating her like she was nothing. His parents had made her life unbearable. If she had told them she was dying, they wouldn’t have cared. They probably would have been relieved.

Regret clawed at his chest.

"I…" He tried to speak, but his voice failed him.

Elyra sat beside him, sighing. "It’s okay, Caleb," she murmured. "I accepted this a long time ago."

But he hadn’t.

And now, he never would.

For the first time, Caleb felt something break inside him. He didn’t want her to die.

But it was too late to save her.

And it was all his fault. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To Be Continued...