After waking up, my parents began tidying up the house.
That used to be my job.
After we turned seven, my mother said she wanted to teach us sisters life skills.
My sister would get by with her sweet talk and playful antics, while I, feeling sorry for my mother, happily helped with the chores.
Somehow, cleaning the house eventually became my responsibility.
I watched as my parents busied themselves around the house.
Once the ceremony of returning home was over, the lively atmosphere gave way to the silence that follows.
It was the first time I realized how big and quiet our home really was.
Out of boredom or frustration, my father cursed while cleaning the floor, looking towards my room.
"You little troublemaker, you have to make a scene on such a happy day."
Yes, I was really dead now.
If he knew I was dead now, would he regret it?
A faint bitterness rose in my heart.
"It's better that she didn't come. After all, that man is a thug. Who knows what he might do if he loses his temper."
My mother's voice pulled me back from my thoughts.
"Besides, they were both with Janet. What if they notice something? That would be disastrous."
So, they knew too.
They knew that these men were my sister's boyfriends. Even if I looked the same, the heart cannot lie.
I said the same thing at the time.
But my parents told me that as long as I treated the man sincerely, he would eventually see my worth.
It wasn't that they didn't know; they just didn't love me enough.
I resented their neglect, their favoritism.
Why should I have to be the shadow of my sister, slipping away quietly?
"Ah!" My mother accidentally dropped the fruit platter, shattering it.
She quickly turned her head towards my room and shouted.
"Carol."
Then she realized I wasn't there and sighed in frustration.
"These were always Carol's chores."
My father was silent for a moment. "Call her."
Will they find out?
I felt a flicker of hope.
My father took out his phone.
On the phone screen was the call I made before I died.
Frowning, my father called back.
After just a few rings, a woman's voice replaced the tone,
"Sorry, the number you have dialed is currently unavailable…"
My father's tone was full of displeasure, "Outrageous, she's not even answering the phone."
My mother's eyes filled with undisguised disgust when she heard him, "That child was a waste to raise."
Yes.
I was dead, so naturally, I was a waste to raise.
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