For twenty years, my mom hated me.

She’d always say I was just like my dad, a useless loser, and that it would be better if I were dead.

On my 20th birthday, I begged her to see me one last time.

She sounded cold, “You're not dead yet, and the funeral home’s busy. Stop bothering me.”

I hung up, laughing bitterly.

On social media, just ten minutes earlier, she posted photos of herself at an amusement park with my stepsister.

Later, I actually did die.

She was the one who put me in the cremator, watched me burn to ash, and tossed me into a trash can.

I thought she’d finally gotten what she wanted, but three days later, she was on her knees outside the funeral home, sobbing and begging for my forgiveness.

——

My mom was a cremator at the funeral home.

That day, she was the one burning the body of someone she had hated for twenty years, me, her own daughter.

All the aunts and uncles who cared about me were there, crying their eyes out.

Some were on their knees, asking why a young girl had to die.

But not my mom.

Her face was blank, calm, like she was about to cremate someone she didn’t even know.

“Stop crying. The furnace is ready. It’s time,” she said, as she put on her gloves and mask.

She was already calculating how long it would take to turn me into ashes.

“Mabel… Lillian…Lillian was your daughter!” Uncle Jordan, who had always been closest to me, stared at her in shock. He couldn’t believe she was that cold.

He had thought that maybe my death would make her cry, that it would finally hit her how she had treated me all these years.

But he didn’t know my mom like I did.

“She wasn’t my daughter. I only have one daughter, Tracy.”

See? I had expected that.

She had never acknowledged me as her own.

Even at school events, it was always the funeral home staff who took turns showing up.

For as long as I could remember, she had never spent more than a day alone with me.

Jordan, realizing how pointless it was, wiped his tears and stood beside my coffin.

“Start the furnace,” my mom said, her voice flat.

The flames roared to life.

Even when she saw my body one last time, her expression didn’t change.

Like always, she gave a quick, formal bow. “Rest in peace.”

Her movements were practiced and professional, handling me like any other body. In just two minutes, she was done.

Suddenly, she paused. Her fingers brushed the necklace around my neck, trembling just a little.

It was the only gift she’d ever given me.

For a second, I thought she might actually feel something. But then, she ripped it off and slammed the cremator door shut.

An hour later, I was nothing but ashes.

I never realized she hated me this much, not even a trace of love left for me.

She didn’t bother giving me a resting place. In front of everyone, she dumped my ashes into the trash can.

Just like she always said, “Trash belongs in the trash.”

After that, she dusted off her hands and called Tracy.

“Tracy, you must be upset. Let’s go shopping tonight for your birthday, okay?”

Then she hung up, already smiling, thinking about Tracy’s party.

Mom, did you forget? It’s my birthday, too.

I followed right behind her, my heart breaking all over again.

I reached out, hoping to grab hold of her, but my hand passed through nothing.

Even as a ghost, Mom, it still hurts.

I was not sure if it was because I couldn’t let go.

After I died, I stayed at the funeral home.

That evening, Tracy showed up to see my mom. As soon as she walked in, she ran into her arms like a scared little bird.

“Mom, is it true? Is Lillian really dead? I... I’m so scared...”

Her eyes were red, filled with tears as she looked up at my mom.

“Don’t worry, it’s all over now,” my mom said softly, wiping the tears from her face. Her fingers lingered on the scar on Tracy’s forehead, full of concern.

Tracy had been the first one to find my body.

She came over to brag about something, but the moment she walked in, she saw me lying there, blood pouring from my eyes, nose, and mouth.

She was so horrified, she tripped and slammed her head on the corner of the table.

When my mom finally arrived, the first thing she did was take Tracy to the hospital. She didn’t even think to call anyone about my body until later.

One life didn’t mean as much to her as Tracy’s little scar.

Now, Tracy was curled up in her arms, smiling as if nothing had happened.

“You shouldn’t run so fast with your leg like that,” my mom scolded, though her face was beaming with affection. She doted on Tracy completely.

“I know,” Tracy said, blinking innocently. “You never worried so much when I played with Lillian.”

At the sound of my name, my mom’s expression twisted into anger. “Don’t bring her up. Your leg wouldn’t be like this if it wasn't for her. She’s just as useless as her deadbeat father.”

Tracy laughed even harder, but my mom didn’t notice.

If she saw that, maybe she’d stop treating me this way.

But then again, maybe not.

To her, my life was a bargain for Tracy’s smile.

My mom had plenty of reasons to hate me.

The first was that she blamed my dad for being “useless” and for being unable to save her first love.

My dad had been his surgeon, and when he couldn’t pull him through, all her anger shifted onto me and him.

Her first love, Tracy’s dad.

When he died, my mom was devastated, and she ended up adopting Tracy.

She swore, right there in front of his dying body, that she’d take care of her. But the first time I took Tracy out to play, she broke her leg.

And that was the moment everything between me and my mom broke for good.

That day also happened to be mine and Tracy’s birthday.

Dad was stuck at the hospital, and my mom had to work late.

So, I was the one left to take Tracy out.

She played the sweet, innocent card, asking if I’d take her to the river for a swim.

Wanting to be the good daughter, knowing how special Tracy was to her, I agreed.

But when we got to the river, she suddenly reached out and tried to push me in.

“If you die, then Mom will only have me,” she said, smiling like she had just won.

I fought back as hard as I could, trying to drag her in with me.

But in the struggle, she fell, hitting her leg on a rock, leaving her permanently injured.

That day, my mom beat me until I could barely stand.

Even now, after all these years, I can still remember sobbing like I’d never stop. It was the first time I thought about running away, and I did.

I wandered through the streets, wiping my tears, imagining how much she’d regret it if I disappeared.

But that naive thought ended up costing me the most important person in my life.

When my dad got home and realized I was gone, for the first time, he didn’t just stay quiet.

They had a huge fight, and then he went out to find me.

I was standing in the middle of the road when he saw me.

I still remember the panic on his face as he called my name, walking toward me, dodging cars.

I finally heard him and turned around, just in time to see him coming for me.

But before I could move, a car came speeding through.

And in an instant, I lost my dad forever.

At my dad’s funeral, my mom stood there, holding his ashes, completely emotionless.

When I approached, sobbing, to pay my respects, she slapped me hard across the face.

“If your dad’s dead, why didn’t you die with him?” she asked, her voice calm, almost detached. It wasn’t grief for her husband. It was anger that I, the burden, was still around.

“Mom…” I grabbed onto her coat, crying so hard I could barely speak.

But she pried my fingers off, one by one.

“From today on, you’re no longer my daughter,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. Then she walked out, taking my dad’s ashes and Tracy with her.

I stayed, kneeling on the cold floor of the funeral home, tears splashing onto the tiles.

For a moment, I thought maybe I should’ve died.

But then I realized that maybe it wasn’t me who should’ve gone.

Because when I looked up at the door, there was Tracy, smirking like she’d won.

And she had.

She’d turned my mom into hers, completely.

To my mom, I was nothing but a worthless mistake, a walking reminder of everything wrong in her life.