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.

Before long, the lavish meal that my parents prepared was served on the table. They sat around the table with Peter and my older sister. They were laughing and chatting. This kind of lively atmosphere had never happened when I was around.

They were so happy that they did not notice that the neighbor’s dog, Bandit came in. It crept toward the plastic container that was holding ashes and sniffed around because it was intrigued by the scent.

Perhaps it was the smell of my bones that caught its attention. Its eyes gleamed with excitement as it grabbed the container in its mouth and bolted down the stairs.

Meanwhile, the family inside sipped on their drinks, still oblivious about what had happened.

"Woof! Woof!"

Bandit trotted over to the neighbor’s five-year-old daughter, Emma. It carried my ash container in its mouth in a proud manner.

With her child innocent, Emma snatched my urn from Bandit. She then popped open the lid and began pouring my ashes onto the ground for the dog.

Bandit wagged its tail in glee. It quickly licked my remains with gusto, leaving almost nothing on the ground.

When I glanced at the plastic container, it was already empty, except for a few traces of what was once my body.

As the sky darkened and storm clouds gathered, Emma pulled Bandit along heading toward their home. On her way out, she accidentally kicked over the container and spilled what little was left of my ashes.

Whoosh.

A torrential downpour began, washing away the last remnants of my physical form from this world.

It seemed even the heavens had no mercy for me.

This was the third day after my death. I had witnessed my body being completely erased from existence. My tally of tears from loved ones remained at zero and there were still twenty-seven days left until the game was over.

The fourth day after my death was Sunday and it was also a Mother's Day celebration.

Early in the morning, both of my sister and brother left the house. My mother was full of excitement. It was very unusual for her to be in a cheerful mood like this.

Recently, my sister asked her to choose from a series of photos of gold bracelets and pick which one she liked the best. My brother had also inquired about what women her age usually preferred. Clearly, they were planning something special for her.

With a light heart, she hummed to herself as she did the housework. She was eagerly anticipating the gifts that my older sister and brother were surely preparing. As noon approached, she finished cooking a lavish meal, convinced that today would bring her a wonderful surprise.

However, just before lunchtime, my sister informed her that she had something urgent to attend to and could not come back home for lunch. Then, not long after that, my brother called her with the same excuse.

“These two... they must be planning something big, that it's taking so much time!” my mother murmured to herself, still smiling with anticipation.

Feeling optimistic, she packed away the meal she had prepared, saving it for later and settled for a modest lunch of plain rice by herself. It wasn’t what she’d hoped for, but she was certain that an even bigger surprise was coming.

Hours passed and as night approached, she waited eagerly, expecting her children to return home any moment. However, instead, she received another round of heartache. Both my sister and brother called to tell her that they wouldn’t be coming home tonight either.

Just as her excitement began to fade into disappointment, the doorbell rang. In her rush, she ran to the door, thinking her children were finally back.

"Isabella, Daniel, are you two trying to surprise me? Mom …."

However, the moment she opened the door, her voice came to an abrupt end.

Standing there was not my sister or brother, but my best friend, Lizbeth Sanford.