One day, Dad and my brother went shopping and came home with a skinny little girl.
"We found her wandering the streets," Dad explained. "She's an orphan. We couldn't just leave her behind."
So there she was—clinging to Dad's side and staring at me with those big, nervous eyes.
Oh my gosh! I finally had a sister!
I grabbed my favorite toy and ran over, super excited to welcome her into our family.
But before I could even say anything or touch her, she collapsed to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
Tears streamed down her tiny face, and she looked so small, so scared.
I stood there frozen, my heart feeling heavy. When I thought I could help her, my brother pushed me aside.
"Stay away from her!" he yelled. "You're so fat, you didn't even notice you're hurting her!"
The words stung more than when I accidentally ate a raw garlic clove. I blinked and looked at him—at his hair, face, clothes, and body.
Was it really my brother saying those mean things? His eyes looked so big, terrifying like he wasn't even Charlie anymore.
What if this wasn't the same Charlie who left the house? My dear brother had never looked at me like that before.