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.

After they returned from the crematorium, my mother and father spent the rest of the day meticulously searching through the rubble of the old house that had burned down, looking for something to salvage.

Then, after they finished, they acted as if nothing had happened. They left the house and went to the next-door neighbor to play chess.

On the morning of the third day, I followed them back to our home in town.

When they arrived and opened the door, I immediately saw my boyfriend, Peter Warren sitting on the couch with his hand wrapped around my sister’s shoulder. They looked so harmonious sitting there.

I was appalled by their audacity. I wondered when all of these had started. How long had they been together? I had not even noticed the signs.

Judging by the way they were so relax, I supposed my death had lifted the burden of secrecy from them and now they could openly flaunt their affair.

Yet surely, when my parents saw Peter, their daughter’s boyfriend, in a relationship with both sisters, they would be outraged, right?

As I thought this, I was immediately slapped hard in the face by reality.

"Peter, you're here!" My mother beamed. Her face lighted up with a happy smile. "You and Isabella sit tight. You stay here for lunch, okay? I'll have your uncle buy your favorite dishes and Auntie will cook for you."

When my father heard that, he immediately hopped onto his electric scooter, ready to head out to buy the groceries.

“Dad, don’t mess up the order this time!” My sister, Isabella, called out from behind him as he rode the bike.

“Don’t worry, Isabella. Peter has been coming here enough times. How could I forget what he likes to eat?” my father responded confidently.

Just then, my younger brother, Carlos Lopez, walked in from outside. In his hand, he was holding a basketball. When he saw Peter, he eagerly approached him.

"Brother-in-law! You're here! Thanks for the sneakers you had my sister give me. I love them!”

The moment those words "Brother-in-law" came out so easily of his mouth, I finally understood. He was addressing Peter as Isabella’s boyfriend. He had never once called Peter that while we were together. For him, I was the mistress.

In fact, he had never even called me “sister.” Growing up, he only referred to me by my full name, without any hint of sibling affection.

It was now clear to me that my own parents and dear younger brother had known about Peter’s two-timing me all along.

The most laughable part? They had willingly disregarded me, his rightful girlfriend, as if I had never existed.

However, it all made sense I suppose. After all, the moment they discovered Peter came from a wealthy family, they did not hesitate to tell me that I was not the right woman for him. I did not have the profile of a rich man’s woman. According to them, my older sister was worthier than me.

After exchanging pleasantries in the living room, my older sister led Peter into her bedroom. The same bedroom had once been mine.   

When I left for college, my sister complained to our parents that her room was too small. My father, ever indulgent of her whims, immediately knocked down the wall between our rooms to give her the combined space she wanted. He did not even consider to ask for my opinion.

He then shoved all my belongings into the storage room.        

At that moment, in the place where I once slept, they eagerly tumbled into each other’s arms and started to kiss.     

I had no choice but to become a witness to this live display of betrayal. 

Afterward, my sister lay on Peter’s chest and with her soft and sweet voice, she asked, "Peter, are you sad that Andrea died?"    

"Sad, why do I feel sad? Dear Isabella, what are you talking about? Who would care about that kind of woman? She is a slut! Get real." Peter scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain. "I'm so thankful, Carlos told me what kind of woman, she really was. Otherwise, I’d have been fooled by that woman who would sleep with anyone for the rest of my life."   

Ha, it seemed my sister had used the same old trick again. Well, a tiger never changed its stripes. She had always been so skilled at slandering me behind my back.

Ever since I was a child, if any boy showed interest in me, my brother, under my sister’s direction, would spread rumors about me. He would tell them I had a messy personal life, that I always hung out with questionable guys and that I had long since lost my innocence. The slanders were so believable that whether they wanted or not, they finally believed the accusation.

Thanks to their meticulous slander, I became notorious for being a “bad girl.” No one wanted to be friends with me and I was left to navigate life on my own. I became an outsider and a freak.

Of course, this reputation attracted unwanted attention from boys with ill intentions. So, I had to be cautious everywhere.

Meanwhile, those who had once shown kindness to me quickly fell for my sister’s charms and inevitably they ended up wrapped around her finger.

All of these kept on happening to me until I moved to college and met Peter.

The man was gentle and attentive and for the first time, I thought I had found my salvation. I believed he was different, that he would be the one to pull me out of this lonely, loveless existence. That he would be strong enough to brave life with me.

However, just like everyone before him, he too eventually fell victim to my sister and brother’s old tricks.

It seemed no matter where I went, I could never escape the shadow of my sister and brother. They would always be there, the stumbling block of my life, ready to destroy anything good in my existance.