My dad’s eyes would flicker, his expression tense as he quietly tried to comfort me, his eyelashes trembling just a little.
The next time I burst into their bedroom crying, Tanya finally lost it.
“Look at me! I’m not dead! If you keep saying that, I’ll give you something to cry about!”
My dad tried to calm us both down, one hand patting my back, the other stroking her hair.
“Sienna’s just a kid. Why are you getting so upset?”
Tanya let out a bitter laugh.
“I told you we should lock the door, but no! You’re happy that woman’s still haunting us, aren’t you?”
My dad forced a smile, trying to keep his cool.
“Don’t say stuff like that in front of her.”
“Stuff like that? You know exactly what I mean!”
She snapped, grabbing the oil burner from the nightstand and throwing it at him. He blocked it with his arm, but the burner ricocheted back, slicing her leg open.
Blood started gushing out, and just like that, her condition flared up again.
Everything became a blur as my dad frantically called the hospital, searching for Rh-negative blood.
Amidst the chaos, I tugged at his shirt, my voice pleading.
“Daddy, give Mommy my blood!”
That’s when he noticed I was barefoot, standing on the cold floor. We’d rushed out so quickly that I hadn’t even put on shoes.
His face went through a mix of shock, sadness, and guilt.
Kneeling, he choked out,
“You’re only six. You can’t give blood to Mommy yet.”
I nodded, my heart sinking.
“That’s why Grandma keeps telling me to eat more and get strong, so I can be a good blood donor.”
My dad’s brow furrowed, and I quickly reached up to smooth it out.
“Don’t be sad, Daddy. I’ll grow up fast! Mommy named me Sienna so I could give her my blood, right?”
His expression changed like he’d been slapped awake.
Tanya had once said she envied Bella’s place in my dad’s heart.
“Why don’t we name her Sienna, in her memory?”
My dad let out a bitter laugh.
“Sienna. For her blood. You two really are something.”
I clung to his hand, my voice trembling.
“Did I say something wrong, Daddy? Does Mommy not like me anymore?”
“In my dream, she was so nice to us. Why is she so mean when I wake up?”
He didn’t answer, just held me close, gently patting my back until I drifted off.
Half-asleep, I heard him calling my grandma.
He was trying to keep his voice down, but it was clear they were arguing.
Now that’s my kind of lullaby! Way better than those sad bedtime stories Mom used to tell me.