The Game My Mother Rigged

Because my little sister Sofia loved playing games of chance, everything in our family was decided by drawing lots. Dinner. School events. New clothes. Even Mom and Dad’s hugs and kisses. Mother kept colored wooden sticks inside a small box. Draw gold, and you won. Draw black, and Sofia got whatever we were competing for. For ten years, I drew black every single time. Mother said she created the game to treat us equally. Whenever I cried or said it wasn’t fair, she told me to stop blaming everyone else for my bad luck. So I practiced every night, shaking the box and listening to the sticks move inside, convinced that one day I would finally draw gold and earn my parents’ love. I never did. On my thirteenth birthday, Sofia wanted the whole family to go to an amusement park. Terrified they would leave me behind again, I secretly painted one of the black sticks gold. Mother caught me. She slapped me, called me a cheat, and left with Sofia. I fell, and one of the wooden sticks pierced my throat. I’m sorry, Mom. If there’s a next life, I’ll try harder to draw the gold stick. Chapter 1 Warm blood ran from my neck, through my hair, and into Mother’s imported rug. I tried to wipe it away, but my fingers passed through the carpet. My body grew lighter until I floated above the study. When I looked down, I understood that thirteen-year-old Elena Moretti was dead. I recognized death because I had seen Nonna Rosa lying this still six years earlier. That day, she had thrown Mother’s wooden box onto the table, scattering colored sticks across the floor. “A child should never have to draw lots for her mother’s love,” Nonna said. Mother held Sofia against her chest. “The game gives them an equal chance.” “Then buy two of something, or let them take turns.” “Some things cannot be divided. Luck makes the decision so I do not have to.” Nonna glanced at me beside the doorway. “Elena has drawn black for years. She gets whatever Sofia rejects and sleeps in a bed too small for her. You even made her draw for comfort when she had a fever. Does that feel fair to you?” Mother tightened her arms around Sofia. “Elena has always been healthy. Sofia nearly died at birth and needs more care. The game teaches Elena discipline and stops jealousy before she hurts her sister.” “She has never hurt Sofia. If you continue this, I will take Elena home with me!” Nonna moved toward me, but her cane slipped from her hand. She clutched her chest and collapsed before she could reach me. The emotional shock had triggered her heart attack. The family doctor arrived too late. No one challenged Mother’s game after Nonna died. Father was a capo in the Moretti family, and he spent his days moving between the docks, restaurants, and private club. When he came home, he poured whiskey and expected silence. The colored sticks decided the rest of my childhood. When a family friend sent expensive chocolates, I drew black, so Sofia received the entire box. When we chose dinner, I drew black again, and Mother served Sofia’s favorite shrimp for a week despite my shellfish allergy. She left hard bread for me and stroked my hair as if she felt sorry. “Rules cannot change because you are upset. That would be unfair to Sofia.” Once, with a fever of nearly one hundred and four degrees, I heard Mother reading to Sofia next door. I asked her to hold me until I fell asleep. She brought the wooden box instead. After I drew black, she returned me to my room and went back to Sofia. “Elena, why is your luck always so terrible?” I wondered the same thing. Every night, I hid inside my closet and practiced without making a sound. I learned how the sticks knocked against each other and shifted inside the box. Ten years of practice never brought me a gold one. Even after death, I could not stop thinking about the game. Nonna Rosa had been buried in a wide walnut casket. The Moretti family filled the church, and everyone praised Mother for arranging such an elegant funeral. I had touched the polished wood and imagined how comfortable it must be inside. My bed had belonged to Sofia when she was five. I had to bend my knees to fit, and during winter I slept in my coat beneath one of her discarded blankets. Looking at my body in the study, I wanted to find Mother. If she drew for me, perhaps she would finally pull a gold stick. Then I could ask for a casket large enough to let me straighten my legs. I drifted through the study door just as heels crossed the marble floor downstairs. Keys struck the entry table, followed by hurried footsteps and Mother’s familiar perfume. She had come back. Chapter 2 “Mom, I’m here.” I rushed toward her and tried to throw my arms around her, but she walked straight through me. She felt nothing. Her familiar perfume lingered where her body had passed. Mother picked up the club access card she had left on the entry table. As she crossed the hall, her gaze settled on the closed study door. “Elena, how long are you planning to lock yourself in there?” She turned the handle. The door opened only a few inches before my body stopped it. I tried to explain that I had not meant to ruin her rug and could no longer clean it for her, but she could not hear me. Sofia hurried in from outside and caught Mother’s hand. “Mom, come on. The ice show is about to start.” Mother released the handle. “There’s half of Sofia’s beef sandwich in the kitchen. You can have it. I’m not making you draw today, so don’t accuse me of treating you unfairly.” The front door closed, and their black car soon disappeared beyond the gates. I drifted into the kitchen. The sandwich was cold, with Sofia’s bite marks still along one edge. The night before, I had touched it while helping Mother clear the counter. She slapped my hand away and reminded me that I had drawn black. Now she had left it for me without making me draw, and the thought still made me happy. When I reached for the sandwich, my fingers passed through the bread. A black cat slipped through the half-open window and landed on the counter. He often wandered through the alley behind our house. Nonna Rosa had called him Nero, and I had used the same name ever since. Nero seized the sandwich and jumped onto the windowsill. “That’s mine. Mom left it for me.” I moved in front of him, but he passed through my legs and crouched outside to eat. His green eyes lifted once, as if he sensed something nearby. Then he swallowed the last piece of beef and licked the crumbs from his paw. I sat beside the wall and watched the empty plate. Even if Nero had never come, I could not have eaten it. Dead girls did not need dinner, but I still wished Mother had left something for me before it was too late. Darkness filled the windows before the car finally returned. Sofia entered first, laughing as she dragged a white tiger plush almost as tall as she was. Father followed with shopping bags from the arena, while Mother knelt to remove Sofia’s coat and kissed her forehead. Sofia twisted away from the second kiss. “We haven’t drawn yet tonight. Elena will say you only love me if she sees you kissing me first.” She looked toward the study and hugged the tiger against her chest. “She’s probably still crying in there. It is her birthday, after all.” Mother’s expression shifted for a moment. She glanced into the kitchen and saw that the sandwich was gone. Whatever concern she might have felt disappeared. “If Elena ever draws gold, I’ll kiss her too. Her bad luck is not my fault, and neither is her decision to sulk all day.” Mother carried Sofia’s new toy upstairs. When she returned, she stopped outside the study but made no attempt to open the door again. “Elena, I’m making a late dinner. Are you coming out to draw? If you refuse to answer, I’ll make Sofia’s baked macaroni, and I don’t want to hear you complain afterward.” Father had already settled onto the sofa with a glass of whiskey. After Mother called my name several more times, he lowered his drink with an irritated sigh. “Leave her alone, Bianca. If she wants to hide, let her. The Moretti name gives her a safe home, an education, and privileges most children will never have. She still behaves as though this family has failed her.” Mother stopped calling me. They ate beneath the warm dining room lights while Sofia described the costumes and music from the show. She sat close to Father, with the white tiger occupying the chair beside her. No one mentioned my birthday again, and no one wondered why the study remained silent. Drawing would not have changed the meal. For ten years, our table had been filled with food Sofia loved. I ate bread, cold side dishes, and whatever she left behind. Still, my parents had given me a bed and kept me inside their home. They had never truly let me starve. That had to count as love. Chapter 3 Mother made Sofia’s baked macaroni after all. The three of them sat around the dining table, talking about the lights and music at the ice show. When I moved closer to Mother, I noticed a small box on the empty chair beside her, tied with a gold ribbon. It had to be my birthday dessert. Mother had remembered. For a moment, I forgot the study, the blood, and the fact that I could no longer touch her. I only wanted to sit beside her while she lit the candle, even if Sofia helped me blow it out. I pointed it out to Nero outside the window, but Mother soon pushed the box toward Sofia. “This is the cupcake you wanted at the arena. Take it to your room and eat it there. Do not let Elena see it. She has caused enough trouble today.” Sofia lifted the lid. A single chocolate cupcake sat inside, covered in white frosting and flakes of gold. I had never eaten anything so beautiful. I followed Sofia upstairs and watched her drag one finger through the frosting. Nero suddenly jumped from the windowsill and knocked the box aside. The cupcake fell to the floor, and when Sofia reached for him, his claws raked across the back of her hand. Her scream brought Mother rushing into the room. She looked from the ruined cupcake to the open window, and her anger immediately turned toward me. “Elena, why didn’t you close the window after eating that sandwich? Did you let this cat inside because you wanted him to hurt Sofia?” She grabbed the empty box and hurled it at the study door. Frosting smeared across the dark wood and slid toward the floor. I tried to tell her that the window had never closed properly, but Father had already lifted Sofia into his arms. “We’re taking her to the clinic. We’ll deal with Elena when we get back.” It was past midnight when they returned. Sofia’s hand was wrapped in white gauze, and she wore a new burgundy velvet coat. “I cried when the doctor gave me the shot, so Mom bought me this coat and took me out for steak.” She turned in front of the study door, making the soft skirt flare around her legs. “You’ve never worn anything this pretty, have you, Elena? That’s what happens when you keep drawing black.” The study remained silent. Father knocked several times before his patience ran out. He struck the door with his shoulder, causing it to hit my body and swing back toward him. The telephone rang downstairs. Mrs. Donnelly was complaining about the noise so late at night. Father muttered under his breath and decided he would have someone open the door in the morning. Sofia stayed in the hall. When she stepped closer to the study, her shoe landed in the blood seeping through the narrow gap beneath the door. Her foot slid, and her forehead struck the corner of the cabinet beside her. Her scream brought Mother and Father running. Sofia pressed one hand to her forehead, and the sight of blood on her fingers made her cry harder. “Elena shoved the door against me when I tried to get inside. She hates my new coat, and she told me to go away.” Mother never looked closely enough to see where the blood had come from. She raised her foot and kicked the study door. “Elena Moretti, come out right now.” The door struck my face and shoulder with every kick. I could no longer feel pain. I only wondered whether they would be frightened when they finally saw me. The door refused to open fully. Mother eventually stopped to tend to Sofia’s forehead, warning me that I would answer for everything I had done when morning came. As Father carried Sofia back to her room, she tossed the white tiger plush into the hall. It struck the cabinet and knocked Mother’s wooden box onto the floor. The lid came loose, and the colored sticks scattered across the marble. I drifted closer and counted them one by one. Every single stick was black. Chapter 4 Every stick scattered across the floor was black. I counted them one by one, but there was not a single gold stick among them. The game had always been a lie. The only gold stick I had ever held was the one I painted for my birthday, and Mother had punished me for creating the chance she had denied me since Sofia was born. She had always known I could never win. For years, she watched me practice and blame every disappointment on my terrible luck while she gave Sofia everything. A coldness settled through me that even death had not caused. For the first time, I no longer wondered what I had done wrong. Over the next few days, Mother and Father treated me like empty space. No one set a place for me at the table, and Mother stopped calling me to draw. Sofia received every meal, kiss, and gift without reaching into the wooden box. With no one left to lose, Mother no longer needed the game. She told my school that I was upset over my birthday and refusing to leave the house. Meanwhile, the smell from the study grew stronger. Whenever Mother passed the door, she wrinkled her nose and ordered me to clean whatever mess I had made. On the fourth afternoon, Mrs. Donnelly came to the house. “Bianca, my kitchen window faces your study. That smell has been there for two days, and Elena hasn’t gone to school. You need to check on her.” Mother sat at the dining table peeling lobster for Sofia and did not stop when she heard my name. “She locked herself in there because she wants everyone to think I mistreat her. She’ll come out when she gets hungry.” Mrs. Donnelly looked toward the hall. “She’s thirteen. A child can get seriously ill after several days without food or water.” Mother dropped the shell onto her plate and marched toward the study. “Elena, what did you ruin in there? The whole house smells. Are you trying to make the neighbors think a Moretti can’t control her own child?” When no one answered, Mrs. Donnelly’s expression tightened. “You have to open that door.” Mother stepped between her and the study. “This is my home, and Elena is my daughter. She’s using silence to punish me. You don’t get to interfere.” After Mrs. Donnelly left, Mother scraped the remaining dinner into the trash. “If you want to hide, keep hiding. We’ll see how long you last without food.” That evening, two police cars stopped outside the Moretti gates. Mrs. Donnelly entered behind the officers with her phone still in her hand. Mother’s expression hardened. “You called the police over this?” “I can smell decay,” Mrs. Donnelly said, pointing toward the study window. “Elena hasn’t been seen for days, and you refuse to open the door. I can’t keep pretending everything is fine.” Father came out of the living room. When he learned that the officers intended to inspect the study, he immediately called the family attorney. “This is private property. No one touches that door without a warrant.” One officer looked down the hall. “We’re checking on the safety of a missing minor. The odor gives us reason to believe she may be in immediate danger.” Mother gave a sharp laugh. “Elena is perfectly safe. She locked herself inside and made a disgusting mess because she wants to embarrass me. Open the door if you like. She can tell you herself whether I ever hurt her.” Sofia stood nearby with the white tiger pressed against her chest. “Elena is still angry,” she said softly. “She pushed me yesterday, so now she’s afraid to come out.” A female officer led Sofia upstairs before the others approached the study. Mother hurried after them and blocked the doorway. “Wait for our attorney.” Father caught her arm and pulled her aside. “Let them open it. If Elena wants an audience for this tantrum, she can come out and explain herself.” One officer wedged a pry bar into the narrow opening. Wood cracked as he forced the blocked door inward, pushing my body across the floor with it. The smell of decay rushed into the house.