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.

On the previous Sunday morning, I had gone to Lizbeth's shop to pick a bouquet of flowers for my mother. I even dragged her to accompany me to pick out the best knee massager for my mother. Since the company had scheduled me to attend a training session on Mother's Day, I had to make sure to prepare everything in advance. I left the gift to Lizbeth and asked her to deliver it for me.

Lizbeth was not too keen on my idea. She thought I was completely foolish for even bothering to make my mother happy.         

As Aunt Wanda's daughter and my only true friend, Lizbeth was the one person with whom I could share everything. She knew all too well about my situation at home, how I had always been treated like an outsider. She had often told me that my family didn’t deserve my loyalty or affection. She did not understand why I still cared for them.           

“They don’t care about you. Why do you keep putting yourself through this?” she’d ask me over and over.    

However, I was stubborn. I refused to believe that all hope was lost. I had always clung to the belief that if I just loved them a little more, gave them a little more of myself, one day they would see me. They would appreciate me in the end, right?         

Even when faced with their indifference, I couldn’t give up until the day I died.                  

And, at this very moment, Lizbeth stood at the door. Her eyes were swollen and red. It was obvious that she had cried a lot ever since she learned about my demise.      

When my mother opened the door, Lizbeth could see the mix of surprise and impatience on my mother's face, which she quickly erased. And that sight almost set Lizbeth off.          

After she was able to control her emotions, Lizbeth said coldly, "Auntie, I'm here to do one last thing that Andrea had asked me to do. These are the flowers she picked for you last Saturday, along with the knee massager she bought for you."          

"Originally, she had work training today and couldn’t be here to celebrate Mother's Day with you, so she asked me to deliver these gifts on her behalf," Lizbeth continued, her voice trembling slightly with anguish.

My mother barely acknowledged her explanation. She did not see the gift properly and even responded with a dismissive sentence, "Oh, thanks. The house is a mess. I won't invite you in, Eh, just leave the flowers on the rack by the door."      

Without any care, my mother started to close the door.        

Lizbeth who was starting to get angrier by my mother's reaction, quickly blocked the door with her foot. Her voice rose, trembling with fury, "Auntie! Andrea is dead! Don't you have any feelings at all? Aren’t you sad at all? Do you even realize how much she loved you? Every word you said, she would take it to heart."     

"Just recently, you casually mentioned that your knees hurt. She remembered that. And on her only day off, instead of resting, she dragged me along to find this knee massager for you. It cost her an entire month’s salary, but she didn’t even flinch! Do you know how frugal she was? She barely spent money on herself, not even for new clothes. How can you, as her mother, be so heartless, so blind to what she did for you?"       

Tears welled up in Lizbeth's eyes as she spoke. Her voice broke with emotion. She poured out everything that she had bottled up in her heart for so long.     

For a brief moment, my mother’s face softened, as if something inside her began to stir. However then, just as quickly as possible, her face hardened again, as if she pushed away any trace of guilt.                

"She was my daughter. Of course, she should do things for me. That’s a normal thing for children to do for their mother, isn’t it?" my mother said coldly.    

"Do you really still consider her your daughter?" Lizbeth spat with an incredulous look on her face. "Then why won’t you even look at the gifts she carefully prepared for you? If it was Isabella who gave you these, would you be acting so disdainful like this?" 

"Enough!" my mother snapped. "Don’t you dare compare her to my Isabella? I won’t waste any more time talking to you. Leave!"        

After she said that, my mother tried to forcefully slam the door shut in Lizbeth's face.

Lizbeth held the door. Although she was seething with rage, she still managed to give my mother a bitter smile. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a blue leather book from it. It was my secret diary.

Ever since I was a child, whenever I felt upset, I would go to Lizbeth's secret hideout with Lizbeth to vent my grievances. That blue notebook had been my emotional outlet for over two decades. It held countless things my parents knew nothing about.

Lizbeth and I had once promised to guard each other's secrets. Yet now, she was breaking that promise. I knew she was doing it out of a sense of justice. She did not want to let me fade away without anyone knowing the truth.

"This is Andrea's diary," Lizbeth said. The sarcasm dripped heavily from her voice as she handed the diary to my mother. "I hope after reading it, you’ll still feel the same."

Then without waiting for my mother's answer, she shoved the diary into my mother's hands and walked away. Her footsteps echoed in the hallway.

My mother stared at the notebook for only a moment before tossing it toward the trash without a second thought. However, as soon as the diary fell, a photograph slipped out, fluttering to the floor.

The photo showed my father, my sister and an unfamiliar woman. The joy on my father’s face in that picture was unmistakable. His wide smile triggered a flood of unease feeling in my mother.

Her feet, which had been set to walk away, froze in place. She slowly bent down and picked up the photo, then scrutinized every detail. The expression on my father's face filled her with dread. The suspicion started to gnaw at her heart.

Unable to shake her growing fears, she turned toward the discarded diary. Driven by an urgent need for answers, she picked it up and flipped through the pages with trembling hands. The deeper she read, the more the walls of her world began to crumble.

Before I returned to my hometown, I had uncovered my father’s secret, which was he had another family.

My older sister, Isabella, was not just "adopted" from an unknown family but actually, she was my father's child from his second family.

After a private investigator followed him for several days, I discovered that the other woman in his life was his first love. She was ten years older than him. Because of the age gap, my grandparents fiercely opposed their relationship. So, my father could not marry the woman he loved and, in the end, he decided to marry my mother.

However, my father had only married my mother to appease his family. Secretly, he never ended his affair with the woman he truly loved. Together, they had a child and she was Isabella.

Both of us were his daughters, but Isabella was born from the woman he loved, which was why he showered her with affection. To legitimize her presence in our family, he lied to my mother. He convinced her that adopting a child would "bring a son into the family."

However, in fact, the reason why my mom did not get pregnant for a long time was because my dad had deliberately stopped it.

I wrote all of this down in my diary, along with the photo that confirmed everything. My original plan was to reveal this dark truth to my mother during our family’s Day of Death Celebration when the family came together.

However, before I could say anything, Isabella found out about my investigation.