I’m no longer alive. But no one has noticed. My body is curled up in a corner of the street. My family probably thinks I’m just throwing another fit, hiding away on purpose. But this time, it’s different. I’m truly gone. My sisters, Phoebe Johnson and Lydia Johnson, are watching TV with Mom and Dad. The coffee table is filled with sliced fruit, and Mom is gently feeding them strawberries. How idyllic. If I weren’t already a ghost, I might have thought this family was happy too. I drift outside the window. In the living room, Phoebe is leaning playfully on Mom’s shoulder, and Mom’s fingers gently stroke her hair. “Mom, I want the biggest strawberry,” Phoebe points to the fruit plate. “Alright, alright, they’re all yours.” Mom smiles, her eyes crinkling as she hands the strawberry to her. Such a familiar scene. Ten years ago, Esme Johnson used to act like this, while I could only sit on the little stool in the corner, longing. Back then, though I was alive, I lived as if I were invisible. Dad suddenly looks up at the window, and I instinctively shrink back. His gaze passes through my body, landing on the distant streetlight. “Johnson, what are you looking at?” Mom asks. “Nothing.” Dad turns back and pats Lydia on the head, “Lydia, do you want some cherries? Dad will buy you some after work tomorrow.” Lydia smiles sweetly, “Thanks, Dad! You’re so good to me.” A smile appears on Dad’s face, a smile I’ve never seen before: “Our Lydia is so good, unlike…” Unlike who? I know what he wants to say. Unlike Nora Johnson, who is awkward and foolish. “If only Esme were still here…” Mom suddenly says, her voice choking. Phoebe immediately hugs her, “Mom, don’t be sad. Lydia and I will always love you for her.” What a charmer. I drift by the window, watching their happy scene, and suddenly feel like laughing. In my parents’ eyes, Esme was an angel fallen from the heavens, while I was trash picked up from the ground. Indeed, Mom always loved my sweet-talking sister more. My sister died ten years ago. In a car accident. Our family was on a trip, and on the way back, she insisted on ice cream. Dad stopped to buy some, and Mom stayed in the car with us. Esme suddenly ran out, saying she wanted to buy a hairpin across the street. Mom didn’t stop her. When the truck ran over her, she was still clutching that shiny butterfly hairpin. After that day, my parents changed. They began to resent me. Mom often screamed at me, tearing her heart out. She said, “Why is it you who’s alive, Nora Johnson? Why did Esme have to leave? Why wasn’t it you who died?” They shifted all their bad emotions onto me. I know they hate me. They hate that it wasn’t me who died.
A year after Esme’s death, my parents started frequently browsing adoption websites. I hid behind the door, listening to their hushed discussions. Mom pointed at the computer screen: “This one’s eyes look like Esme’s.” “The chin doesn’t quite match,” Dad leaned in for a closer look, “Keep looking.” They went through hundreds of photos and finally chose Phoebe and Lydia. The day the two girls were brought home, Mom hugged them and cried her heart out. I stood awkwardly at the stairway corner, unsure of what to do. “Call them older sisters,” Mom nudged my shoulder. Phoebe and Lydia were both two years older than me, born the same year as Esme. They looked at me timidly, with a hint of appeasement in their eyes. I opened my mouth but couldn’t make a sound. “Are you mute?” Mom suddenly raised her voice, “I told you to call them older sisters!” My nails dug into my palms. Phoebe hurriedly took Mom’s hand, “Aunt, don’t be mad. It’s normal for Nora to not accept it right away. Give it time.” Mom immediately changed her tone, gently stroking her hair, “Phoebe is so understanding.” That night, I heard Phoebe and Lydia whispering in the guest room. “This family is so strange,” Phoebe said, “They’re so harsh to their biological daughter.” “I heard their daughter died,” Lydia lowered her voice, “We look like the deceased one.” “Who cares, as long as we have food, drinks, and money.”
Phoebe and Lydia quickly figured out the rules of this house. They imitated how Esme used to act cute, wore her favorite colors, and even mimicked her way of speaking. Phoebe and Lydia quickly blended into the family. For their first birthday at the house, Mom prepared two beautiful princess dresses, the style Esme loved when she was alive. “My dear daughters, try them on. You’ll look beautiful.” The two girls looked thrilled, “Thank you, Mom!” The word “Mom” pierced my ears like a knife. I bit my lip hard, my throat tight. “Nora, go mop the floor,” Mom said without looking up. I didn’t move. “Are you deaf?!” She suddenly raised her voice and threw the remote at me. I dodged, and the remote grazed my forehead, hitting the wall. “How dare you dodge?” She rushed over and grabbed my hair, “You killed your own sister, and you don’t even feel guilty? Always with that dead face, it’s bad luck!” My scalp burned with pain, but I stayed silent. Lydia stood by, a slight smirk on her lips. “Aunt, don’t be mad,” she said hypocritically, “Maybe my sister is just in a bad mood.” “In a bad mood?” Mom sneered, “What right does she have to be in a bad mood? She’s not the one who died!” My nails dug into my flesh, but I didn’t dare cry. Crying would make things worse. At night, I was locked in the storage room and made to kneel as punishment. “Reflect on yourself!” Mom said before locking the door, “Think about your sister!” In the dark, I curled up in the corner, my knees pressing against the cold floor. Laughter came from outside the door. “Mom, this cake is delicious!” Lydia’s voice drifted in. “Eat more if you like it,” Mom’s voice was unbelievably gentle. I closed my eyes, and finally, the tears fell.
The next morning, Phoebe and Lydia wore their new dresses to school. Mom personally did their hair. “Our Phoebe is so pretty.” She touched Phoebe’s face, lost in thought, as if looking at someone else. Phoebe smiled sweetly, “It’s all because of Mom’s good taste, making us look so nice.” Dad came over and handed them each a gift card, “Pocket money. If it’s not enough, just ask Dad.” I stood at the top of the stairs with my old backpack, unnoticed by anyone. “Nora,” Mom suddenly called me, “After school, pull out the weeds in the garden. Don’t be lazy.” “Got it, Mom,” I replied hoarsely. Phoebe passed by me, deliberately bumping into me, and whispered, “What a pity.” After school, I walked home slowly, not wanting to face that house. When I opened the door, Phoebe and Lydia were on the sofa eating fruit, and Mom was peeling grapes for them, not even glancing at me. I put down my backpack and silently went to the backyard. The garden was overgrown with weeds, and I squatted down, pulling them out one by one. My fingers got scratched and bled, but I didn’t stop. “Nora!” Dad suddenly shouted behind me. I flinched and turned around. “You’re pulling out the flowers!” He stormed over and slapped me across the face. My vision went dark, and I fell to the ground. “Useless! You can’t even do this right!” He grabbed my collar and dragged me up, “If your sister were alive, she’d never be as worthless as you!” My face burned with pain, but I didn’t cry. Phoebe stood in the doorway, holding an ice cream, a smile on her lips. “Dad, don’t be mad.” She walked over and held his arm, “Maybe my sister didn’t mean to.” “Didn’t mean to?” Dad snorted, “She did it on purpose! She’s been jealous of Esme since childhood, and now she won’t even spare the flowers!” I opened my mouth to explain but ended up saying nothing. What’s the point of explaining? They never believe me. In this house, I live worse than an outsider.
At dinner, I was punished and not allowed to eat. The aroma of food wafted from the kitchen, and my stomach twisted painfully. Lydia “accidentally” spilled a bowl of soup at my feet. “Oh dear, sorry.” She blinked, her tone devoid of apology. Mom frowned, “Nora, clean it up.” I knelt on the floor, wiping up the soup with a cloth, listening to them chat and laugh at the dining table. “Mom, can you come to the parent-teacher meeting next week?” Phoebe asked. “Of course,” Mom agreed with a smile, “Our Phoebe is so outstanding; of course, Mom wants to go.” “Dad will go too!” Dad chimed in. They were all so happy, while I was like a ghost. I wanted to say that I also have a parent-teacher meeting. The teacher praised my progress this time. Could Mom and Dad attend my parent-teacher meeting just once? Even once would be enough. But I didn’t dare to say it. At night, I curled up in bed, my stomach hurting from hunger. Footsteps came from outside, and Phoebe pushed the door open, holding half a piece of bread. “Hungry?” She tossed the bread on my bed, a malicious smile on her face, “Beg me, and I’ll give it to you.” I stared at her, unmoving. “Dad’s going too!” he chimed in. They were having such a wonderful time together, and I felt like I was invisible. I wanted to speak up, to say that my parent-teacher meeting was coming up too. The teacher had praised my progress this time. Couldn’t Mom and Dad attend just once? Just once would be enough. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it. At night, I curled up in bed, my stomach aching with hunger. I heard footsteps in the hallway, and Phoebe Johnson pushed the door open, holding half a slice of bread. “Hungry?” she tossed the bread onto my bed with a malicious grin, “Beg me, and I’ll give it to you.” I stared at her, unmoving. “Why are you acting all high and mighty?” she sneered, “Who do you think you are? In this house, you’re not even worth as much as a dog.” I grabbed the bread and threw it at her face. She screamed, and Mom rushed in immediately. “Nora Johnson! What are you doing?!” She slapped me hard across the face. I bit my lip, remaining silent. “Go kneel in the storage room!” She dragged me out by my hair. Phoebe hid behind Mom, smirking at me triumphantly. The door to the storage room locked again. In the dark, I hugged my knees and finally cried. Why… why wasn’t it me who died? If it had been me, would it not hurt this much? Ever since my sister left, I’ve been asking myself this question. Now I’ve finally gotten my wish. All night, I wandered aimlessly on the roof. The next morning, a call came in. Mom frowned, glancing impatiently at the phone screen. Seeing Adeline Sun’s name, her mouth twisted. “Hello?” She answered, her voice as cold as ice. Adeline’s voice was anxious: “Aunt, it’s Adeline Sun. Is Nora home? I’ve been calling her, and she hasn’t picked up. She hasn’t replied to my messages either, and I’m a bit worried…” Mom let out a cold laugh: “She can go wherever she wants. What does it matter to me?” There was a brief silence on the other end. “Aunt, Nora hasn’t responded to me for two days. She never does this. Could you please check if she’s home?” “Check for what?” Mom’s voice suddenly rose, “That useless thing, no one would notice if she died! Always with that dead look on her face, it’s just bad luck!” My chest tightened sharply. Even though I was already dead, hearing those words felt like a knife to the heart. I floated beside Mom, staring at her face, trying to find even a hint of concern. But she didn’t even blink. “Aunt!” Adeline’s voice rose too, “How can you say that about Nora? She’s your daughter!” “Daughter?” Mom scoffed, “My daughter Esme Johnson died ten years ago. Now my daughters are Phoebe Johnson and Lydia Johnson. What is Nora? She’s always so gloomy, it’s annoying. You friends should avoid her too, or she’ll lead you astray!” My fingers trembled, wanting to grasp something, but they only passed through the air. I’ve heard these words for ten years, but every time I hear them, my heart still clenches. “Aunt, you’re so biased!” Adeline’s voice was filled with anger, “Nora is so good. How can you treat her this way? She’s your real daughter. Why is she less than…” “Enough!” Mom sharply interrupted, “My family matters are none of your business! Don’t call again, it’s bad luck!” With that, she hung up the phone and tossed it onto the couch as if it were something dirty. Phoebe leaned in, holding Mom’s arm: “Mom, don’t be angry. She’s not worth it.” Mom patted her head, her tone instantly softening: “You and Lydia are the sensible ones.” I stood aside, watching this scene, and suddenly found it laughable. The dead from ten years ago are treasured, while the living are trampled into the mud. Even now, dead, no one cares. I wanted to tell Adeline, don’t look anymore, I’m already dead. Dead in the shadows of a street corner, with not even a stray dog finding my body. But I couldn’t. On the fifth day, Adeline reported me missing to the police. When the police found me, my body was already unrecognizable.
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