"It was a cold night of December, and the snow was knocking at the windows. It was the night before Christmas, I think, or maybe the actual Christmas night. People were celebrating in the streets, in their homes full of love.

Emma has gotten back early from school. I remember her saying "we should tidy the house, because mom is coming home soon.". So that's what we did. But she never came home. My dad did.

He was so drunk, and alcohol in his blood just increased his violence, his anger, and everything that came with it. He started yelling at us, destroying all the hard work we've put into tidying the house. When he hit me that night, I knew it was more than it usually was. He knocked me down, and then kicked me in the stomach, real hard. I remember not being able to even breathe. I was crying, and yelling, and every time a sound was coming out of my mouth, I would be kicked harder, until I collapsed.

My sister, who has heard the sudden silence, came into the room. She saw me bleeding, and then my dad just laughing like devil. He was coming at her too, because she told him to back off. She grabbed the chandelier on the firehouse, and when he tried to hit her as well, she hit him with it, right in the arm. But he was way stronger. He took the chandelier from her hands, and punched her against the wall. She fell, and he dragged him to the toilets.

I was hearing the screams, so I tried to get up. My legs were weak, my stomach was totally damaged, and I knew I wouldn't get up. So I crawled. In the blood - mine, and hers too. When I get to the toilets, it already was too late. My dad had punched the mirror, and Emma just used her self-defense reflexes : the stabbed him with a piece of glass. He was on the bathtub, agonizing. But before she brought him down, he also had the time to push her against the wall. Her head had hit it, and she was also on the ground.

I crawled to her, and tried to help her. I wanted to put her into the safety position, like we learnt in school. I pulled her by the feet, because she was leaning against a little edge. I only saw her head hit that edge, and then her eyes closing.

I am the reason why she's brain dead. The edge hit a critical part of the brain, and that's it.

When my mom finally came home, she discovered the scene. When she saw me, crying over Emma's body, and then her husband, dead on the bathtub, she just did what she thought was right. She injected drugs into my dad's body, so that the police would think he had an overdose. Then, she just sat down, in the blood, and started crying.

She hates me from this day. She protected me, but her protection has a cost.

I am a monster, Lindsey. I know what you will say : that my dad is the reason why she's brain dead, that I couldn't have done better. But what if I could've ? What if I had told Emma not to interfere ? Or just waited for the ambulance to come, and not do what I did ?

My mother has the right to hate me. I hate myself. I killed my sister.

I hope you won't be looking at me differently."

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