I was a middle child, the black sheep of the family, the unloved one, the loser, the unwanted child, you named it. So, it was not so strange that when I died no one in my family cared about losing me.  In fact, deep down, I suspect, that they were actually relieved I had died.   

The day that I died was the day when I went home to celebrate The Day of the Death Festival. I was supposed to enjoy the festive atmosphere of the festival with my family, instead, I was burned to death in the old family mansion.  

In that final moment of my life, when I arrived at the afterlife, the King of Hell came to see me and made me an offer I could not reject. He wanted to play a game with me. 

He said that if I could collect the tears of my closest family members within a month, he would allow me to return to life. However, if I failed, I had to meet the consequences which was for my soul to be scattered and lost forever.  

Although there was some doubt in my heart, I thought it would be an easy task to do, so I agreed. He then gave me a pouch to collect the tears of my next of kin. So, I put the pouch across my chest and headed back home. Ready to collect the tears. After all, I just died, okay? Surely, collecting tears from my family members would be easy, right?

However, when my spirit finally drifted back to my family, I found out that there was not a trace of sadness on their faces.  They even lived their life as usual as before. In fact, they looked happier.

My sister sent a message to my boyfriend, "Andrea is dead. Now we can finally be together without worry that she will know and make a fuss about this. There is no one that will hinder our love anymore.”     

My brother told his friend, “Let's get online and play. Who cares if that unlucky thing died? Ranking up is way more important than to care about her. Let's play!”     

My father grumbled at my mother, “This useless girl. If she had to die, couldn't she have picked somewhere else? Why did she have to burn down our old mansion? That building is still nice.”

And my mother, while calmly comforting him, said, “Oh, cheer up, Dear! Don’t you think this is the best outcome? Now, we don’t have to hang our heads in shame because of her disgraceful job. They won't tease up anymore.”     

Then I realized that I had made a wrong move. I was too delusional and naive. The task that I originally thought was so easy, was in fact the hardest one. I could not stop myself but to curse, "Damn … how could I forget? I was too careless!"

My family had never loved me. In fact, I was a stranger in their eyes!

——

For as long as I could remember, I knew I did not belong in this family. I felt that I was the odd one there. No one wanted me to be included in anything. They did not care about my well-being or needs.

Maybe it was usual that in a family of three children, the middle child would always get overlooked. I always felt I was a stranger in my own family.

I remembered an incident when we all went to the amusement park as a family of five. At that time, my father carried my sister and my mother held my brother. Meanwhile, I walked behind them. My parents only urged me to keep up with them.

This situation was used by a human trafficker who had been watching us from the shadows. He managed to grab me, cover my mouth and take me away.

If it weren't for our neighbor, Aunt Wanda and her family coincidentally bumping into us at the park entrance, I would be taken somewhere else. Aunt Wanda and her family immediately freed me and took me to my family.

Even after that terrifying ordeal, my parents still did not care. They only scolded and beat me for not keeping up with them. Meanwhile, my sister and brother laughed at my misfortune and no one offered me any comfort.

At six years old, I remember thinking that maybe it would have been better if the trafficker had taken me away at that time.

This was how my life had been for the next twenty-five years.

Then, when I graduated from college, I took a job as a mortician and things had finally changed. They decided to kick me out of the house.

The first day my mother found out I worked as a mortician, she immediately called me. She demanded me to quit my job.

In the background, I could hear my father yell furiously, "I don't have an unlucky daughter like her!"

My brother texted me, "Andrea, you're disgusting,"

And, did you want to know my darling sister's reaction?

She put on her usual performance, pretending to be a thoughtful sister. “Mom, Dad, don’t be upset. It just shows how skilled she is! Imagine, even those mangled, torn-apart corpses are made whole under her hands. People in the village will probably praise us for having such a talented college graduate in the family.”

My mom and dad were prideful people. They were obsessed with how the people perceived them. They were especially terrified and hated to become the village's object of gossip. Having a daughter who became a mortician would not make them the envy of the villagers, instead, my whole family would be criticized by them.

And, so my sister's words had successfully had the desired effect.

On the other end of the line, they cursed me out for what felt like an eternity. Their final words echoed, “If you don’t quit, don’t even think about coming home!”

That’s my family for you.

I had wondered countless times that if I died one day would they actually grieve for me?

However, when I looked at them standing at the scene of my death, the answer was obvious.

This was the first of my death. No one in my family had shed a single tear.

The tears I had collected were zero. Days remaining to gather tears was twenty-nine.

The fire that had consumed my body brought everyone in the village together. It did not take long for them to find my body. When they discovered my remains, they had become charred, blackened and shriveled.  

Seeing my pitiful state after death, a few of the aunties from neighboring homes, who had watched me grow up, couldn't bear it. Tears welled up in their eyes.

“What a shame. She is such a good girl and now she's just gone.”  

“I heard she worked as a mortician in the city. Honestly, it's no wonder something bad happened. People who deal with dead people all the time will take the dead people's bad luck.”        

…                   

The crowd buzzed with whispers, many of them filled with disdain for the work I had chosen.           

My parents clearly heard the murmurs. Their faces darkened with anger and shame.     

My father spat on the ground, then turned to my mother and complained to her, “What a cursed girl, even in death she brings shame to us.”

At that moment, Aunt Wanda couldn’t stand it any longer. As she wiped away her tears, she stepped forward and said, “Andrea is gone now. Let's watch our tongues,” she said. Her voice was trembling with sorrow.         

She then turned to my father, her expression turned softened, but firm. “Mr. Adam Lopez, look at her … she didn’t leave in a dignified way. I’ve heard morticians can do wonders. They can repair bodies damaged by accidents so the deceased can leave this world with dignity. Shouldn’t we do the same for Andrea?”       

Warmth filled my heart when I heard Aunt Wanda’s words.

Throughout the cold, lonely years of my twenty-seven years of life, she was the only one who ever made me feel cared for.  She was more like family than my family ever was.

When my parents bought cotton candy for my sister and brother but forgot to buy it for me, Aunt Wanda handed me the one she bought for her daughter.  

When my sister secretly slandered me and made the other children refuse to play with me, Aunt Wanda invited me to her house to play with her daughter.      

When my brother pushed me and made me suffer some injuries, my parents turned a blind eye, it was Aunt Wanda who took me to her house and tended my wounds.           

I never imagined that, even after I died, she would still be the only one who cared about giving me some dignity.     

However, my father, as if he had just heard a joke, scoffed, “It’s enough if I buy her an urn to put her ashes in. Why would we hire a mortician? Wasn’t she one herself? If she thought she didn’t die with dignity, she can get up and fix herself.”    

His harsh words hung in the air. Aunt Wanda, her face clouded with sadness, said nothing more. She cast one last glance at my body before shaking her head and walking away. 

Only I, who was standing silently behind, could hear her whisper, “Poor girl.…” 

Yes, I really was a poor girl.

The morning after my death, my sister and brother left for the city at the break of dawn.

My mother, as if it were a trivial task, found an old, torn mat from the neighbor’s chicken coop, wrapped my body in it and tossed it aside without a second thought.

My father, too worried I would dirty his beloved car, rented a beat-up truck instead. Together, they roughly threw me onto the back of that broken-down vehicle and swiftly drove me to the crematorium.

They did not even bother buying a proper urn. My ashes were carelessly stuffed into an old plastic container they had emptied of sweet potato starch. They didn’t even clean it.

If you looked closely, you could still see traces of white starch mixed in with my ashes.

And yet, my parents still felt I had wasted their time. To them, I had always been someone who did not matter.

I could never understand the reason, despite being their child, I was treated so differently from my sister and brother.

I had even suspected, at times, that I wasn’t their biological daughter. So much so, that I secretly had a DNA test done behind their backs, I was hoping I was not their biological child.

The day I received the results, I actually wished I was not related to them by blood. I thought maybe that would help me find peace.

However, when I saw the words “Confirmed biological relationship,” all my hopes shattered.

Ironically, on a quiet night not long after, I overheard my parents talking and learned the real truth, that it was my sister who was the one who had been adopted.

At that time my parents had not had a child even though they had been married for so many years. Finally, they decided to adopt a girl in hopes of "summoning" a younger brother. That’s how my sister came to our family.

After my sister arrived, my father’s business flourished. We soon became the first family in the village to have a fortune of fifteen hundred dollars

My father believed my sister was his lucky charm. Because of that, he showered her with endless love and attention.

And my sister did not disappoint them. Soon after, my parents were expecting their first biological child. The shady clinic they visited assured them that this time it would definitely be a boy.

They were overjoyed and dreamed day and night of their son's arrival. However, the boy they were promised turned out to be me instead.

To make things worse, on the day I was born, my father suffered a major financial loss.

The double blow led to me being labeled a “misfortune” from the moment I entered the world. From then on, I was the unwanted child, unloved and unnoticed.

Seeing how my family handled my death, I lost any desire to come back to life. What was the point? No one cared when I was alive and no one cared now that I was gone. I might as well disappear completely.

However, the King of Hell had other plans. A restriction was placed on my soul. Until the game was over, for the next seven days, I would be confined to a fifty-meter radius around my closest relatives. I couldn’t leave, no matter how much I wanted to.

This was the second day of my death. I had witnessed my hasty cremation and was still waiting for a single tear to be shed in my honor. So far, I have collected zero tears.

Twenty-eight more days until this game ended.