Chapter 1

1

My sister and I were crushed by a massive semi-truck.

My liver was shredded, while she only walked away with a few minor scratches.

But my mother, the prestigious Chief of Medicine, forged my discharge papers just to reserve the best surgeons for my sister.

I used the last of my strength to call her, begging for my life.

She just screamed at me through the phone, "I don't know how I raised such a selfish, wicked brat. Do you really have to ruin your sister's life to be happy?"

As she wished, I finally died.

Yet, my mother, who had always despised me, turned gray overnight.

......

I was dead.

But for some reason, my spirit lingered, floating into the hospital suite where my sister, Willow, was staying.

My mother, usually the picture of professional grace, was now slumped over Willow's bed, her voice trembling with raw emotion. "Willow, honey, look at me. I promise you're going to be okay."

The room was packed with doctors. I recognized them―they were the top surgical specialists in the entire hospital.

Willow's face was deathly pale, putting on quite the performance. But I knew better. She only had a few surface-level abrasions.

"Mom... am I dying?" Willow whispered, her voice barely a breath.

Tears streamed down our mother's face as she gripped Willow's hand. The urgency in her eyes was heartbreaking.

"I've brought every expert in the building here," Mother promised. "You don't have to worry about a thing."

The doctors nearby had already seen the charts. They knew it was just skin-deep trauma that didn't require this level of hysteria.

The story of the Chief's two daughters getting into a wreck had already spread through the hospital. Everyone had seen how she completely abandoned her eldest daughter.

They stayed silent to save their jobs, but the judgment in their eyes was thick.

A nurse who had been trying to monitor me rushed into the room, breathless. "Dr. Vance, your other daughter, Elora..."

Before the nurse could finish, Mother snapped at her. "Do not mention that girl's name to me! If it wasn't for her, Willow wouldn't be in this state."

"Elora's discharge papers are signed. Tell her to go home and think about what she's done!"

The nurse opened her mouth to argue, but the sheer coldness in Mother's eyes silenced her. She backed away, fearing for her career.

Willow seized the moment, pretending to look concerned. "Is Elora okay? Maybe the doctors should go check on her first?"

Mother looked at Willow with nothing but pure adoration. "She's fine. She's still playing her little games to get attention."

"I don't know how I ended up with a daughter like her. Living in those backwoods for years turned her into a feral, uncontrollable brat."

"You're the only one with a good heart, Willow. You're always thinking of others."

"I just need you to be okay."

Standing there as a ghost, I felt my heart shatter. To her, I was just "that girl" or "the other one."

She probably felt relieved to finally be rid of the "backwoods brat" who embarrassed her.

When I was six, we went for a hike in the Appalachian backcountry.

Back then, Mother treated me and Willow, who is a year younger, with the same level of care.

While our parents were busy setting up a picnic, Willow lured me deep into the thickets.

By the time I turned around, she was gone.

I only survived because an old man gathering firewood, Silas, found me freezing that night.

As a doctor, Mother should have known that internal injuries are invisible. People walk away from wrecks every day only to drop dead hours later from internal bleeding.

But every time I told her I was in agonizing pain or when I coughed up blood, she called me a manipulative liar.

She accused me of trying to steal medical resources from my sister.

While the doctors tended to Willow's tiny scrapes, my father burst into the room, looking frantic.

"Where is that ungrateful brat, Elora?" he roared. "She hurts her sister like this and doesn't even have the decency to apologize?"

"What a cold-hearted leech!"

Dad was always busy with his firm and rarely took time off work.

The few times he did were always for Willow―school plays, trips to Disney World, or, in this case, to play the hero for her.

Even in death, I was exactly what I was in life: a ghost in my own home.

Whenever they spoke of me, it was only to use me as a punching bag to make Willow feel better.

When the doctor dabbed a bit of antiseptic on Willow's scratch, she let out a sharp, dramatic hiss of pain.

Mother immediately pushed the doctor aside, and Dad leaned in to blow gently on the wound.

From a corner no one could see, Willow flashed a triumphant, wicked smirk.

This was exactly what she wanted―to be the center of the universe.