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.