I died in the third year after my parents sent me back to the mountain region. This was to make way for their adopter daughter to marry my fiancé. My parents sent me back to the mountains where they had found me. Overwhelmed with despair, I knelt on the ground and begged them to take me back. But I found their eyes filled with indifference and they scolded me, calling me a selfish and ungrateful girl, insisting that I relinquish my fiancé.

Three years later, at the first birthday party of their adopted daughter’s child, when they called me and received no answer, they turned against me. Believing that I still harbored a grudge and cursing me to die in anger. This time, their wish was fulfilled. Because I am already dead. In a dirty, stinking cow shed.

***

I died three years after my parents sent me back to the mountains. My soul wandered and somehow, I returned to a place I knew, my old home.

The house was ablaze with light, each room sparkling under the glow of crystal chandeliers and elegant lamps. The atmosphere was vibrant, with guests arriving in a steady stream, their chatter mingling with the clinking of glasses and the soft strains of background music. The clinking of glasses created a rhythmic symphony, a backdrop to the lively exchange of toasts and well-wishes. I watched a video playing on the large screen in the main room. The people in it looked happy and warm. They were celebrating the first birthday of Abigail's daughter.

Abigail hurried over to her parents with the baby in her arms. Her face looked worried.

“Mom, Dad, haven’t you been able to reach her yet?” she asked.

My mother looked at her phone screen, her face unhappy. “She’s always so dramatic. Just because of a trivial issue, she hasn’t contacted us for three years!”

My brother, Alexander, wore a bored expression, his fists clenched tightly. He chimed in, “Why are you asking about her? Have you forgotten? She made you so depressed that you tried to kill yourself. No one wants her here. She’s just a jinx!”

“Don’t say that,” Abigail interjected. Her face looked sad and she appeared like a gentle and innocent woman. “I think it’s enough. Lily must have realized her mistakes. I guess she doesn’t want to come back because she’s still angry and hates me for taking Oliver from her.”

Tears fell down her cheeks as she spoke. I sat on the piano bench nearby, watching her performance with a clenched jaw. Three years had passed and Abigail was still very good at pretending. The sorrowful expression on her face was a far cry from the one she wore when she grabbed my hair, dragged me along and forced me to kneel like a dog.

“Listen, Abi, you are the only person I love. I’ve only loved you all along, so don’t say that you took me away from her.”

Oliver, my former fiancé, who had once professed his love for me and openly asked me to be his wife, now stood with Abigail. The sight was almost surreal. He held her close, his arms wrapped around her in a protective embrace. His lips brushed gently against her forehead, a gesture filled with warmth and affection that should have been mine.

The same man who had once sworn his devotion to me was now lavishing all the tenderness and care he had promised me upon someone else. It felt like a cruel twist of fate, a harsh reminder of how swiftly and completely things could change.

My place in Oliver’s life, once so secure and cherished, had been replaced with this new reality. His affection for Abigail was a stark, painful contrast to the devotion he had once claimed to have for me. It was as if all those promises and vows had been nothing but fleeting shadows, dissipating into the bright light of his newfound happiness. How sweet. How ironic.

“It’s not your fault, Honey,” said my mother, smoothing Abigail’s hair. “She’s just an outsider. She’s the mistress. She doesn’t deserve to be loved, so don’t feel guilty about her.”

Yep. That was me. The outsider. The one who never quite fit in, no matter how hard I tried. I was the abandoned child, left to navigate life’s complexities on my own. In a world that seemed to revolve around connections and belonging, I felt like I was perpetually on the outside looking in.

In romance, I was the pitiful one. Every attempt at love felt like an uphill battle, a struggle to convince someone that I was worth their time, their heart. Rejected time and again, I wondered if I was simply unworthy of the affection and care that others seemed to find so effortlessly.

Family relationships weren’t much different. There was this constant, gnawing sense of being the odd one out, the one who didn’t quite measure up. It was as if my presence was a reminder of something unwanted or unfulfilled. I found myself sidelined, yearning for acceptance and understanding that always seemed to elude me. I was rejected everywhere—by romance, by family, by the world.

Hearing of unpleasant remarks of how rude I am, Alexander, who had always harbored a deep-seated hatred for me, found his anger reaching new heights. His face reddened with rage as he cursed aloud, “That bitch! If only she had never been found. We were better off without her. I hope she just died in a ditch somewhere!”

I turned my gaze toward my parents, desperate to see even a flicker of anger or disapproval in their eyes after hearing Alexander’s harsh words. But, as always, there was nothing. Their faces were as impassive and unaffected as stone, devoid of any emotion or concern. It was as if Alexander’s venomous outburst hadn’t even pierced their indifference.

Instead of addressing the cruelty of Alexander’s curse, my mother stepped forward with a facade of concern and began to comfort Abigail. The stark contrast between her feigned empathy and the reality of our situation was almost unbearable. It was clear that, in their eyes, I was the source of all discord. My existence had become an unwanted shadow over their so-called happiness.

The realization hit me with crushing clarity: They were all wishing for my death. My departure, it seemed, was the final solution to their problems. Without me around, there would be no one left to interfere with their ideal family dynamic. Abigail could finally enjoy her place in the sun without my presence looming over her. Their picture-perfect family of four would no longer be disturbed by my unwanted presence.

It felt like a bitter, twisted joke. In their eyes, I was already gone, my presence erased from their lives. The cruel irony was almost too much to bear. I should offer them congratulations because, in their minds, they had finally achieved what they had always wanted. I was dead to them and with that final, figurative death, they could revel in the peace they had longed for.

I should congratulate them, because finally, they got what they’ve always wanted. I was already dead.

Before the birthday party could reach the end, my mother’s phone rang, piercing through the celebratory hum with an unexpected urgency. She glanced at the screen, her expression shifting from confusion to concern as she answered the call.

“Hello?” she said, trying to keep her voice steady despite the unease that was clearly creeping into her demeanor.

The voice on the other end was calm but carried an unmistakable authority. “Good evening. We are from the Eldergrove District Police Department. Am I speaking with Mrs. Clark?”

“Yes,” my mother replied hesitantly.

“Is Lily Clark your daughter or related to your family in some way?” asked the man on the other end.

There was a pause as my mother’s expression shifted from puzzled to alarmed. She hesitated, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an explanation. “Yes,” she finally responded, her voice trembling. “She is.”

The officer continued, each word measured and deliberate. “We have some troubling news. We found a body in Mistwood Village and we discovered a family photo on her. We suspect she might be your daughter. Could you please come to identify?”

I raised an eyebrow. I had thought my body would rot away in that cow shed, never to see the light of day again. I didn’t expect it would ever resurface. I couldn’t help but wonder how my mother would react if she saw it. My death had been pretty gruesome. What would her reaction be? Would it be too much for her to handle?

Before I could gauge my mother’s reaction, a hand reached out and abruptly ended the call.

Abigail tightened her grip on my mother’s hand and scolded, “Mom, did you get another scam call? I told you, just hang up on an unknown number. They’re frauds.”

My mother stood there, frozen, her expression a mix of shock and disbelief. Her eyes, usually so composed, were now clouded with a faint, almost imperceptible hint of panic.

“He said… he said Lily is dead,” she finally managed to stammer, her voice trembling slightly. “They found a family photo on her body and asked me to come and identify it.”

Abigail’s frustration was evident as she rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “Mom, you’re confused again. Lily never took a family photo with us. There’s no way they would find Lily’s body with our photo. It’s a scam. Hundred percent.”

Her words were sharp, almost tinged with anger as she tried to pull my mother back from the edge of her mounting anxiety. Abigail’s tone was a mix of impatience and concern, as if she was struggling to make my mother see reason.

“Think about it, Mom,” Abigail continued, her voice growing firmer. “How could they say that the body have a family photo of us? We never even had a picture together with Lily. It's just a trick to scare you and then siphon off all your money.”

Her words seemed to pierce through my mother’s cloud of confusion. My mother’s eyes widened as the reality of the situation began to sink in. Her face, previously pale and troubled, flushed with a mix of anger and realization. With a sharp exhale, she erupted, “These damn liars have no conscience!”

Her voice was filled with a raw, intense frustration that cut through the remaining echoes of panic. She paced back and forth, her anger palpable as she continued, “It’s supposed to be a big day and they chose to bring this up now? Even if there was some truth to it, why pick today to stir up such nonsense? They’re jinx just like her!”

Abigail shook her head, trying to calm the storm. “Exactly, Mom. They’re just trying to upset you. Don’t let them ruin today. It’s supposed to be a day of celebration, not a day for these idiots to spread their lies.”

As my mother’s anger raged on, I felt a profound and inexplicable bitterness. Although I couldn't physically feel pain, there was a deep, aching sense of sadness that lingered. The realization that my death, rather than being met with grief or mourning, was dismissed as an inconvenience struck a bitter chord.

I had never fully grasped how deeply my mother’s feelings of resentment and hatred toward me ran. It was a painful realization that, even in death, my existence seemed to be an inconvenience and a source of discomfort rather than something mourned or missed. My mother’s immediate reaction—angry and dismissive—made it clear that my death was a mere disruption to her life, more an annoyance than a tragedy.

Even though a soul can't really feel physical pain, I couldn’t shake the deep bitterness I felt. It was like a heavy weight inside me. I never realized just how much my mother’s disdain for me had grown. I always knew there was tension, but this was something else entirely.

My life and death seemed totally irrelevant compared to the big deal that was Abigail’s daughter’s first birthday party. To them, my existence was just a nuisance. The idea that my death might mess up Abigail’s big day was so disheartening. My mother wasn’t even interested in checking if the body was really mine, just brushing it off because it might bring bad luck. It showed how little my life meant to them.

But they got one thing wrong. I had been in a family photo with them. They’d clearly forgotten about it, probably because it was a day they’d rather not remember. That day was filled with shame for them and they’d erased it from their memories.

A year after my return to the Clarks’ family, they finally decided it was time to take a family photo. The Clark’s mansion, located right in the heart of the city, had a spacious, sunlit living room where the large photo hung prominently. I'd heard from the village kids that a family photo was like a family’s credentials—it showed that no one was left out and everyone had a place. For two years, I gazed enviously at that family photo on the wall, wishing and hoping that one day I would have a spot in it.

Then, one day, I finally got the chance. It was a day I had been waiting for and I made sure to wear the only flowery dress I had, the one that had been tucked away in the back of my closet. It was a bit faded and worn, but it felt special.

No one knew how much this photo meant to me, how much I had dreamed of being part of it. As the photographer adjusted the lights and positioned the camera, I did my best to keep a bright, radiant smile on my face. Even as I started to feel a tingling numbness in my cheeks from the effort of holding the smile, I forced myself to keep it up.

While the photographer was adjusting the background and setting up the camera and my family waited in the lounge, I headed to the restroom to tidy up my appearance. When I came out, I bumped into a long-haired man. I stumbled for a moment and looked at the person who had run into me. He seemed to be one of the photographers here. Thinking it was just an accident on both our parts, I smiled and apologized. However, he grinned as he stared at me. His eyes roamed over me in a very disturbing way and worst of all, the man had an awful body odor.

“That's a nice smile,” he said, taking a step closer to me.

I was shaking with fear. My mind went blank. His cold touch against my skin made my heart pound like a drum. I bit him hard and pushed him away in a panic, then bolted out of the room. Stumbling back to the lounge, I was nearly overwhelmed by fear and nausea.

The lingering smell of tobacco on the photographer’s body clung to me like a suffocating grip, making me tremble uncontrollably.

Desperately seeking comfort, I turned to my parents. But just as I looked at them with hope, my dad delivered a harsh slap, sending me crashing to the ground. My right ear rang painfully, blood trickled from the corner of my lip and my face swelled up. Vivid to naked eye.

Abigail cowered behind my mother, her eyes darting back and forth between me and my Dad. After a moment, she approached hesitantly.

“I saw Lily was flirting with him and trying to seduce him. But then she suddenly ran away in fear. Why were you trying to seduce him, Lily?”

Upon hearing these accusations, I jumped up and yelled, “That’s a lie. I didn’t do anything! Why are you accusing me?”

It was completely false. I hadn’t done anything wrong. But no one would listen to me. As I shouted at Abigail, Alexander stepped forward and kicked me hard.

“Who the hell do you think you are? Why are you shouting at Abigail?”

I collapsed on the floor, clutching my stomach, writhing in agony. My body was racked with violent tremors and cold sweat dripped steadily down my forehead, pooling on the floor beneath me. Each wave of pain seemed to tighten its grip, making it hard to breathe or focus.