Chloe froze. She lowered her fork slowly, the metal clinking against the porcelain plate with a sound that echoed like a gunshot in the silent room.

“More comfortable?” Chloe repeated, her voice eerily quiet before it climbed into a shrieking crescendo. “Of course you do! Because Maya can’t handle the sun!

Because Maya needs to be protected! Because this whole family revolves around Maya’s pathetic, invisible sensitivities!”

“Chloe, that is enough,” my father warned, his voice thick with a desperate, pleading authority. “Your sister has a medical condition. You know she can’t be out in the sun like that.”

“It’s a lie!” Chloe stood, her chair scraping violently against the hardwood floor. Her face was twisted in an ugly, jealous rage, a shaking finger pointed straight at me.

I kept my eyes locked on my plate, my hands resting in my lap, hidden beneath the oversized sleeves of my long-sleeved cotton shirt.