Carolina POV

A few days later, Estrella was discharged. The hospital became a flurry of activity, all centered around her. Hulda bustled around Estrella' s room, carefully packing her cashmere sweaters and silk pajamas into a monogrammed weekend bag. She fussed over every detail, ensuring Estrella' s comfort.

Carleton, ever the pragmatic one, had his sleek, black sedan pulled directly to the hospital' s main entrance, defying all parking regulations. He stood guard by the door, impatiently checking his watch, as if Estrella' s delicate constitution couldn' t bear another moment inside the sterile walls.

Victoria, ever the doting older sister, refused to let Estrella tie her own sneakers. She knelt, her brow furrowed with concern, meticulously lacing them up as if performing a sacred ritual.

On the drive home, Hulda sighed dramatically. "I just wish Carolina had been there. It' s so unlike her to be so disrespectful. After all we' ve done for her." She tapped her perfectly manicured nails against the dashboard.

Carleton grunted in agreement. "She' ll get what' s coming to her. This time, she' s gone too far." The words, casual and inevitable, hung in the air like a guillotine blade.

A strange mix of emotions swirled within my hovering spirit. Dread, yes, a faint echo of the fear I once felt. But also, a profound weariness. What could they do to me now that they hadn't already? What else could they take?

This favoritism, this lopsided affection, it wasn't new. It had been the air I breathed since birth. Estrella, the delicate, beautiful younger sister, born premature after a terrifying car accident that had nearly taken Hulda' s life.

I remembered it vividly, though I was only four. The screech of tires, the smell of burning rubber. I had been in the back seat, unhurt, but Mother had been rushed to the hospital, bleeding. Estrella, a tiny, fragile package, had been born too early. Seeing her minuscule form in the incubator, hooked up to a tangle of tubes, had broken my parents' hearts. My father had blamed me.

"If you hadn' t distracted your mother, this never would have happened!" he' d bellowed, his hand connecting sharply with my cheek. "You' re a curse, Carolina! A curse on this family!" Hulda, pale and weak, had watched with a silent, defeated look in her eyes. It was then, I realized, that I had become the family scapegoat.

Another memory, sharp and vivid, pierced through the dullness of my non-existence. I was perhaps seven, clutching a worn, velvet-bound sketchbook, filled with my childish drawings. It was my most prized possession. Estrella, then five, had demanded it.

"I want to draw in it!" she' d shrieked, her voice rising to a terrible pitch.

"No, Estrella, it' s mine," I' d pleaded, pulling it away. "I' m drawing something for Grandma."

She' d immediately collapsed to the floor in a fit of manufactured tears, wailing about how I never shared, how I was always mean to her.

Mother had rushed in, her face contorted with anger. "Carolina! What are you doing to your sister? Give her the sketchbook at once!"

"But it' s mine!" I' d tried to explain, tears blurring my vision. "I was drawing…"

Estrella, still sobbing, looked up with wide, innocent eyes. "It' s okay, Mommy. Carolina can keep it. I just wanted to draw a picture for her." The lie was so perfectly crafted, so self-sacrificing, it made my stomach churn even now.

Later that evening, Father returned home. He hadn' t even taken off his jacket before Mother, her voice dripping with indignation, recounted my alleged cruelty. His face had darkened. He' d grabbed me by the arm, dragging me to my room.

"You ungrateful child!" he' d roared, his belt already in his hand. "How dare you upset your sister? You don' t deserve to be in this house!" The blows rained down, hard and fast. I cried, begging him to stop, but he just hit harder, convinced my tears were crocodile tears.

Mother and Victoria stood in the doorway, watching, their faces impassive. Not a single word of protest, not a single gesture of comfort.

After that, I stopped fighting. I stopped explaining. I simply endured. And now, in death, I was enduring the same cold abandonment.

Carolina POV

Back at the Fitzgerald mansion, Estrella was ensconced in luxury. She reclined on a silk chaise lounge in her opulent bedroom, scrolling through her phone, a picture of pampered serenity.

Victoria, humming a soft tune, brought in a tray laden with Estrella' s favorite herbal tea and delicate shortbread cookies. "I even learned your new recipe, darling," she cooed, placing the tray gently on a side table. "Just for you." Victoria, who rarely cooked anything more complicated than toast, had clearly gone to great lengths.

Carleton entered, a small, velvet box in his hand. He presented it to Estrella with a flourish. Inside nestled a dazzling diamond pendant. "A little something to cheer you up, my sweet girl."

Hulda, meanwhile, was rearranging a vase of fresh peonies on Estrella' s bedside table, ensuring the room was a perfect sanctuary. Estrella merely smiled, a faint, almost imperceptible tilt of her lips, acknowledging their adoration as her birthright.

I followed them, a silent wraith in my own family home. The familiar grandeur of the house felt alien, cold. It was their home, not mine. The warmth, the genuine affection, it had never extended to me. I want to leave. So badly. But I couldn't. I was a prisoner to this unfinished life.

Suddenly, the doorbell chimed, a bright, intrusive sound in the quiet opulence.

A moment later, Estrella' s boyfriend, Marcus, appeared at the living room archway. He was handsome, charming, and exactly the type my parents approved of. His eyes immediately sought Estrella, his face etched with concern.

"Estrella, my love, are you alright?" he rushed to her side, gently taking her hand. He' d brought a bouquet of her favorite white roses, their pristine petals a stark contrast to the dark suit he wore.

Estrella looked up at him, her eyes wide and slightly shy, a picture of vulnerability. "Marcus! I' m fine, really. Just a little shaken."

Marcus leaned in, kissing her forehead. His touch was tender, his voice laced with genuine affection. "I was so worried. I heard about the accident…"

A strange, sharp ache, something I hadn' t felt in this disembodied state, twisted in my ethereal chest. It was jealousy, raw and ugly, for a love I had never known. Marcus' s touch, his concern, they were meant for me.

Then, Marcus turned to my parents. "Where' s Carolina? Is she okay? I tried calling her, but she didn' t pick up."

Hulda waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, don' t worry about her. She' s probably off sulking somewhere. You know how she is. Always seeking attention." She rolled her eyes, a clear signal that Carolina was not worth discussing.

Marcus nodded, accepting her judgment without question. "Right. Of course." He turned his full attention back to Estrella.

Victoria, ever the helpful one, chimed in. "Maybe you should just break up with Carolina, Marcus. She' s clearly not good for you. Estrella, on the other hand, is loyal and kind." Her words were sharp, a thinly veiled push towards a new relationship.

Marcus' s cheeks flushed slightly. He glanced at Estrella, who offered him a delicate, encouraging smile. "I… I was planning on talking to Estrella about that," he mumbled, his gaze lingering on her.

Another wave of bitter, self-deprecating laughter rippled through my spirit. Of course. Of course, you were. He had been mine, once. But in this family, nothing was truly mine.

I couldn't watch anymore. I floated away, away from the sickening sweetness of their collective affection, away from the sting of betrayal. It was just another wound, another familiar ache in a lifetime of them.

Later that evening, the carefully constructed facade of peace began to crack. After dinner, Hulda paced the study, her face tight with irritation. "I still can' t reach Carolina! What is wrong with that girl? Does she have any idea how much trouble she' s caused? Estrella is still shaken, and she needs her sister' s support, not this… disappearance!"

My spirit hovered near her, a silent observer. I' m right here, Mother. Or rather, I' m not. And that' s the problem, isn' t it?

Hulda snatched up the phone again, this time dialing the hospital. Her voice, when she spoke, was imperious. "I want to speak to the nurse in charge of my daughter, Carolina Fitzgerald. Tell her to put Carolina on the phone immediately. She has some explaining to do."

There was a pause, a series of muffled questions from the other end. Hulda' s face tightened further. "What do you mean, she' s not available? I demand to speak to her!"

Then, the nurse' s voice, clear and concise, came through the phone, even to my spirit. "Mrs. Fitzgerald, I' m very sorry to inform you, but your daughter, Carolina Fitzgerald, passed away from her injuries shortly after admission."

The words hung in the air, cold and definitive.

Carolina POV

Hulda' s face, usually composed and imperious, crumpled into a mask of disbelief. Her eyes widened, her mouth agape, as if she couldn' t quite process the sounds reaching her ears. "Passed away?" she repeated, the words thin and reedy. "That' s… that' s impossible."

She shook her head, a frantic denial flickering in her gaze. "No. No, you' re mistaken. Carolina was fine. A few scratches, perhaps a bruise or two, but nothing serious. You must be confusing her with another patient."

She clutched the phone tighter, her knuckles white. "I' m a doctor myself. I saw her. She was conscious, talking. She' s just being dramatic, trying to get attention. Don' t you dare try to lie to me, Nurse. I' ll have your license!" Her voice rose, shrill with a frantic edge I had rarely heard.

A weary sigh came from the other end of the line. The nurse, Kandy, I recognized her voice now, sounded resigned. "Mrs. Fitzgerald, with all due respect, I was there. Her injuries were severe, internal. It' s a miracle she even made it to the ER."

"Internal what?!" Hulda shrieked. "She had a few superficial cuts! My Estrella was the one who was truly injured!" She paused, catching herself. "You… you better be mistaken. You' re telling me my daughter… my daughter is dead?" The final word was a hollow whisper, fragile and disbelieving.

Kandy' s voice was firm but gentle. "I understand this is shocking, Mrs. Fitzgerald. If you wish to confirm, you can come to the hospital. Her body is currently in the morgue."

Hulda gasped, dropping the phone onto the plush carpet. It bounced once, the dial tone a faint, mournful hum. She began to pace, her movements jerky and agitated. Her denial warred with a dawning, terrible realization. Her brow furrowed, her lips moving in a silent, desperate argument with herself.

My spirit watched her, a strange, profound calm settling over me. Her anger, her disbelief, her frantic pacing – none of it touched me. It was like watching a play unfold, a drama I was no longer a part of. For the first time, I felt truly free of her influence, of her constant need to diminish and dismiss me. The yearning for her approval, a lifelong tether, had finally snapped.

The pain, the grief, the bitterness of my earthly existence, they receded like a distant tide. A vast, echoing emptiness opened up around me, pulling me in. This was it, then. The true end. And in a strange way, it felt like a release.

But then, a powerful, violent force seized me. It wasn't gentle, like a whisper of peace. It was a wrenching, brutal grip, pulling me through swirling darkness, through sensations that felt like being squeezed through a needle' s eye, like tearing through the fabric of reality itself.

Light exploded, harsh and blinding. Sounds rushed in – muffled voices, the distant clang of metal, the rhythmic beep of a machine. My spirit, disoriented and reeling, was forcefully compressed, slammed back into a body. A different body.

Memories, fragmented and overwhelming, flooded my mind. Not my own. A woman named Claire Tillman. Heiress. Fashion empire. Cheating fiancé. Betrayal. Despair. Suicide attempt. The weight of an unbearable existence.

The sheer desperation of this new life, the crushing loneliness, the betrayal – it was all too familiar. But there was also a fierce spark, a flicker of defiance I hadn't possessed in my original life. I had been given a second chance. A chance to not just survive, but to fight.

Meanwhile, Hulda spent a restless night. The nurse' s words, though denied, had planted a seed of doubt, a chilling possibility that gnawed at her carefully constructed reality. She tossed and turned, arguing with phantom voices, convincing herself it was a mistake, a cruel joke. But the fear, cold and insidious, had taken root.

By dawn, unable to quell the terrible uncertainty, Hulda rose. She had to see for herself. She had to prove them wrong.