Chapter 1

Everyone in my family was born with an ability: we could see a number floating above other people's heads. It showed exactly how many times we had left to see them.

The number above my sister Chloe's head had always been terrifyingly small.

Chloe was adopted, brought into our family as an infant before I was born. But everyone knew she was supposed to die on Thanksgiving this year.

Because of that, the entire family treated her like fragile glass. Every time they saw her, they gave her the absolute best of everything.

Even after I was found and brought back home, I was expected to yield to her in every single thing.

I could only watch from the sidelines as Chloe wore gorgeous dresses, ate the best treats, went on trips with Mom and Dad, and nestled into their arms without a care in the world.

Whenever I tried to get close, I was scolded for being selfish and inconsiderate.

Until Thanksgiving day arrived.

All I did was lightly touch Chloe's new designer dress.

She got upset, locked herself in her bedroom, and refused to come out. Enraged, my parents dragged me down to the freezing basement storage room, completely ignoring the fact that I was burning up with a high fever.

Mom glared at me through the crack of the door, her voice full of blame. "Haven't we been good to you? Why do you always have to make your sister miserable?"

I banged weakly on the heavy door, desperate to tell them how sick I felt, how badly my head pounded.

Outside, the footsteps faded into total silence.

And then, my vision went completely dark.

Suddenly, my body felt weightless.

When I lifted my head, I saw the warm, glowing light spilling across the living room upstairs.

"Mom, Dad, is Mia really going to be okay?" Chloe’s voice was soft, laced with a heavy sniffle. "I heard her crying down there, saying her head hurt..."

"I'm totally fine now. Please don't fight with her because of me."

Chloe was wearing that brand-new pink dress, shimmering with tiny crystals. It was so beautiful—a dress I had never been allowed to touch.

"Don't worry about her," Mom consoled her softly, reaching out to stroke Chloe’s cheek and gently brushing away the stray hairs on her forehead.

"Exactly. She doesn't have a fever—she's just faking it to steal the spotlight," Dad added, his tone dripping with annoyance. "She has no shame, pulling a tantrum on today of all days."

I drifted toward Chloe, wanting to grab her hand, wanting to tell her that I really was sick, that my head hurt so much it felt like it was splitting open.

Because Chloe was perhaps the only person in this house who ever showed me any kindness.

Ever since I was brought back to this family, every ounce of favor had been showered entirely on her.

I had to beg just for a warm bowl of soup, let alone new clothes or toys.

Chloe would sometimes share her food and sneak toys to me. But whenever we tried to talk, Mom and Dad would immediately step in, convinced I was bullying her or stressing her out.

I needed her to help me.

I reached out, but my hand passed straight through her body, as if she were made of thin mist.

I froze in mid-air, staring blankly at my own translucent fingers.

I turned around, drifting back down toward the tightly shut wooden door of the basement storage room. Underneath the door frame, it was pitch black.

I floated straight through the wood.

There I was, curled up among the dusty boxes and clutter, motionless.

I was dead.

"That's great," I thought hollowly. "Now no one will ruin Chloe's Thanksgiving dinner."

None of them could hear a word I said.

Upstairs, Mom kept gently patting Chloe’s back. "Just focus on enjoying Thanksgiving tomorrow, honey. Don't let her ruin your mood."

Chloe pressed her lips together and stayed quiet, but her brow furrowed tighter.

Mom sighed, her eyes brimming with sheer pity. "Stop defending her. Ever since we brought her home, she's been jealous of you. She can't stand seeing you happy. Did you forget what she did at your honor roll party last year?"

Chloe's party—the one I ruined.

The house had been elaborately decorated that day, complete with a massive custom cake topped with delicate candles.

Mom had carefully lit them, while Dad held up his phone, desperately trying to capture every fleeting milestone Chloe had left.

I wasn't allowed in the room. I had to hide behind the door, watching the candlelight dance across Chloe's face, watching her unwrap gifts, watching our parents hold back their tears.

The overwhelming unfairness and heartbreak consumed me. I had lost my mind and charged out.

I knocked the cake off the table. Sweet cream splattered everywhere across the hardwood floor, and the candles rolled into the corner, flickering out.

"Why do you only care about her?!" I had screamed, breaking down completely.

I still remembered the look in my parents' eyes that day—pure disappointment and disgust.

When Dad's hand struck my face, I didn't even flinch.

One slap, two, three... Mom stood by, crying, but she never once tried to stop him.

It was Chloe who had grabbed Dad's arm.

"Stop hitting Mia! Dad, please stop!" Her voice had trembled violently, but she held on tight.

That night, Chloe sneaked into my room and pressed half a smashed piece of cake into my hands.

"Mia, I'm sorry," she whispered, her fingers gently hovering over my swollen cheek. "I won't be around much longer anyway. Soon... no one will ever take anything from you again."

I hadn't wanted to talk to her back then. I just told her to get out.

I faintly remembered eating that slice of cake in the dark. It tasted salty, soaked in my own tears.

Back in the living room, Mom was still stroking Chloe's hair. "Chloe, ignore her," Mom murmured, exhaustion in her voice. "That girl has been selfish and resentful ever since she returned. You know how she is."

I hovered there, numb.

Yes, I had been jealous of Chloe.

I was jealous that she got all the love, jealous of her pretty dresses, jealous that when she had a slight cold, Mom would stay by her bedside all night. I was jealous that even though her remaining time was so short, she was still their treasured darling.

And even now, I was still jealous.

Because up until the moment I drew my last breath, I had never once been loved.