Chapter 3

3

I never imagined that her birth would be the beginning of my descent into hell.

When Bridget was two, she begged me to take her to the neighborhood playground.

There, she suddenly picked up a heavy rock and smashed it against a neighbor girl's forehead.

When the furious parents stormed over demanding answers, Bridget instantly squeezed out tears and pointed at me.

"It was Rosie! I told her to stop bullying people, but she threatened to beat me up!"

I was too young back then to find the right words to defend myself.

I could only stand there in tears, looking at our parents and repeating over and over again.

"It wasn't me... I swear it wasn't me..."

The cold, disgusted glare my parents gave me that day was burned into my memory forever.

It haunted every single sleepless night of my youth.

From that moment on, Bridget treated framing me like an entertaining game, pinning every single mistake on my shoulders.

My parents grew increasingly impatient with my desperate explanations.

The final straw happened when Bridget stole a neighbor's designer wallet and the police knocked on our door.

I fell to my knees, pleading through sobs. "I really didn't do it! Bridget took it! Why won't you ever believe me?"

I had foolishly pinned my last shred of hope on our non-existent familial bond.

In response, my mother stepped forward and kicked me squarely across the jaw.

My small, fragile body flew several feet across the hardwood floor like a broken ragdoll.

"Our family has always been respectable! How did I birth such a rotten thief! Get out of my sight!"

"Your sister covered for you so many times, yet instead of being grateful, you dare slander her!"

It was at that exact moment I realized there was no place for me in this house.

I swallowed all my tears, grief, and agony deep into my stomach.

From then on, I learned to keep my mouth shut, but Bridget had no intention of letting me go.

When I caught her attempting an armed robbery in that dark alley, she lunged at me with a blade.

My years of bottled-up trauma finally exploded.

"What do you want from me? I have nothing left in this family, so why do you keep doing this!"

"I am your own sister!"

She burst into mocking laughter, as if she had just heard the funniest joke.

"Sister? People ruin each other for money every single day!"

"Even our mother beats you and treats you like garbage! You only have yourself to blame for standing between me and my full inheritance!"

I had thought she was just trying to scare me, until I saw the cold, murderous intent in her eyes.

She genuinely wanted me dead.

Backing away slowly, I tried desperately to calm her down.

"I never wanted to take anything from you! Can't we just live in peace?"

Lost in her madness, she refused to listen to a single word.

"My sweet sister, I will remember you after you are gone."

"After all, in this pathetic world, not a single soul has ever truly loved you."

Blood dripped steadily from my stomach as I stared in shock at the knife protruding from my flesh.

The blade had been driven in by my own sister.

Was there anything genuine left in this world?

She stabbed me repeatedly in a frenzy, and where was our mother?

She arrived minutes later, only to curse and kick me while I bled out.

Bridget was right about one thing.

In this entire world, nobody had ever truly loved me.

Nearly six months after their lavish vacations, my mother finally received a call from the police precinct.

The investigation was officially wrapping up, but some paperwork required a next of kin's signature.

Forced to cut her trip short, my mother returned to town and sat down with her former colleagues, full of annoyance.

"Couldn't this be handled over the phone? Do you have any idea how expensive last-minute flights are?"

"That useless girl is nothing but a headache! She does nothing but cause trouble for me!"

The handling officer stared at her in utter disbelief, stunned by a mother who showed zero emotion over her daughter's passing.

However, the toxic dynamic in our family had long been an open secret around the precinct.

Feeling deeply sorry for me while frustrated with her attitude, the officer sighed.

"You shouldn't speak about her like that. She is gone now, and the deceased deserves respect."

My mother paused her pen, letting out a mocking laugh.

"Did she pay you off too? Are you all working together to pull a prank on me?"

"Respect the dead? Don't think a little guilt trip will make me forgive that brat! She doesn't get a pass until she kneels and begs her sister for mercy!"

She remained utterly stubborn in her delusional narrative.

This time, not just the officer in front of her, but everyone in the precinct froze.

The room fell into a heavy, uncomfortable silence as officers exchanged troubled glances.

Unless they saw it with their own eyes, no one would believe a mother could be so heartless.

She genuinely did not care about the death of her own child.

Her favoritism had crossed every line of basic human decency.

My mother slouched lazily in the chair, fidgeting with an expensive diamond ring on her finger.

I had worked six months of exhausting overtime just to buy her that exact ring for her birthday.

She had demanded it at the mall, threatening to lock me out of the house forever if I refused to pay for it.

"Is there anything else? I have a spa appointment at two, so stop wasting my time."

Taking a deep breath, the detective slammed a small, worn charm pouch onto the desk.

"This was her only personal effect left at the scene. You should take it home."

Looking at that faded charm, my ghostly gaze softened with tender memories.

When I was severely ill as a toddler, the doctors said I might not survive the night.

My mother had supposedly climbed hundreds of steps to a mountain chapel, praying on her knees to bring this blessed token back for me.

Through countless dark nights when I felt utterly abandoned, holding this tiny charm was the only thing that kept me alive.

Just as my phantom hand reached out to touch it, my mother waved her hand dismissively.

"Isn't this that two-dollar junk I grabbed from a flea market bin years ago? Why are you giving me this trash?"

My hand froze in mid-air.

A two-dollar thrift store trinket?

Why did she lie and tell me it was a priceless blessing she fought to get for me?

Was the final memory that kept me going through life just another cruel lie?

What was my entire existence even worth?

While my mind spun in agony, my mother casually tapped her temple.

"Oh, right, there was a real blessed charm, but I gave that one to Bridget. As long as Bridget is safe, that is all that matters. Rosie's life is cheap anyway."

A cheap life.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Yes, nobody in this world ever cared for me.

If my life wasn't cheap, what was it?

Before she could stand up, the Police Chief stepped out of his corner office with a grim expression.

He walked over and handed a thick file directly to my mother.

"Since you are here, sign the official Certificate of Death. Your daughter's body has been in the morgue for months. It is time to take her home."

The dismissive smirk on my mother's face instantly vanished.

A patrol officer might have played along with a prank, but the Police Chief would never lie about official protocol.

Besides, the blue state seal on the death certificate was impossible to fake.

For the first time in her calculating life, only one terrifying reality consumed her mind.

I was truly dead.

The daughter she despised with all her soul was gone forever.