Chapter 2

Holding onto the hope of finally being noticed, my death wasn't as painful as I feared.

The rat poison only made my stomach twist with a sharp, fleeting spasm before the darkness took over.

At dawn, someone found my body.

Detective Marcus flipped through my ID and sighed.

"What a waste. She was only twenty-five."

"No signs of foul play. Poor kid, whatever she was going through, she took that rat poison without hesitation."

"How long until Dr. Sarah gets here? We need the medical examiner to officially call it."

My spirit drifted, following his gaze. Soon, a figure I hadn't seen in five years appeared.

"Victim is Hazel Simmons, twenty-five. Apparent suicide. The poison bottle is still in her hand."

My mother frowned at the name. "Hazel Simmons?"

Her assistant, Luke, nodded. Her frown deepened.

"Suicide at twenty-five? Young people today have zero respect for life."

Luke sighed.

"Don't say that, Dr. Sarah. We don't know what she was going through. Sometimes, ending it is the only escape from unbearable pain."

My mother’s voice remained cold and clinical. "It’s just weak mental strength. Letting hormones dictate their brain."

With that, they approached my body.

Suddenly, I felt a spark of anticipation. Would she recognize me?

If she did, what would she look like? Shocked? Remorseful?

Or would she just look at me with the same deep disgust she had when she heard my name?

Unfortunately, before she could pull back the white sheet, her phone rang.

Her face paled instantly. "What?! She had another relapse?!"

"Is Chloe okay? What did the doctors say?"

As she spoke, she threw a pleading look at Marcus.

Marcus pursed his lips but eventually nodded, letting her go.

Bitterness flooded my ghostly chest.

My workaholic mother, who never put anything before her job, was actually begging her colleague to let her leave for a family emergency.

But "family" never included me.

Even in death, she didn't look at me.

At least I died near the police precinct. Otherwise, I doubted anyone would have even bothered to bury me.

My soul followed my mother.

She drove like a maniac, cursing at every slow driver in front of her.

Yet, she still stopped by a florist to carefully select a bouquet of fresh lilies.

"Chloe, my poor baby..."

My mother’s eyes welled with tears as she stroked Chloe’s hair in the hospital room.

"It's all Hazel’s fault. If she weren't so selfish about the kidney donation, you wouldn't have to suffer like this."

Aunt Clara, who was standing by the window, looked displeased. "Sarah, Hazel is your daughter too."

I was raised by Clara. She was the only one who had ever given me warmth.

And because I knew what love felt like, I knew exactly how much my mother hated me.

"Don't talk like that. If Hazel heard you, she’d be heartbroken."

"Sigh... I wonder how she’s doing abroad. I hope she’s not being mistreated."

To keep Clara from worrying, I had told her six months ago that I was moving abroad to live with a friend.

Tears spilled from my spectral eyes. I apologized to her in my heart over and over again.

I'm sorry, Aunt Clara. I'm so sorry. I can't be with you anymore.

My mother’s face twisted in disgust. "Clara, I’ve told you a thousand times. Chloe is my only daughter!"

Clara said solemnly, "Sarah, that was a mistake you made when you were young and foolish. Hazel is innocent."

"You’ve treated her like an enemy for years. But did you ever think? A child doesn't get to choose her parents."

Chloe was the child of my mother and her true love—a firefighter who died in the line of duty. Chloe was my mother's obsession, her living memory of him.

I, on the other hand, was the mistake. The product of a reckless, drunken night with a high school deadbeat.

My very existence was a constant reminder of her youthful stupidity.

The guy ran off and reportedly died in a street fight years ago.

I shouldn't have existed.

But my mother’s uterine lining was too thin. If she had aborted me, she could never have had children again.

So, swallowing her disgust, she gave birth to me.

Clara always told me not to hate my mother.

She said everyone makes mistakes, and I was just dealt a bad hand in life.

Everyone makes mistakes. And I spent my entire life paying for theirs.