Eva Graham POV:

My grandmother' s breath hitched, a sharp, gasping sound that made Hilda pause. The air in the opulent living room, usually so stifling, crackled with an unfamiliar tension. I watched from my unseen perch, a knot forming where my stomach used to be.

"How dare you?" Gwendolyn' s voice, usually a delicate whisper, was a whip-crack. "How dare you speak of your daughter that way? Have you no heart, Hilda? No motherly instinct?"

Hilda recoiled, her perfectly made-up face registering shock. "Mother, don't be dramatic. Eva is fine. She's just being difficult, as always."

"Difficult?" Gwendolyn slammed her cane against the polished floor. The sound echoed through the room. "She is your child, Hilda! And you speak of her as if she were a troublesome pet. Do you hear yourself? She's been gone for months, and you dismiss it as a 'tantrum'?"

I closed my eyes, if ghosts could close their eyes. She does care. Someone still cares.

"Eva has always been a sensitive child," Gwendolyn continued, her voice trembling now. "And you, Hilda, you have always tormented her. Always picking at her, always comparing her to Carina. It's sickening."

Hilda' s face hardened. "She's jealous, Mother. She always has been. It's not my fault if she can't handle other people's happiness."

"Happiness?" Gwendolyn scoffed. "You call that happiness? You've nurtured a viper under your roof, Hilda, and you've driven your own flesh and blood away. Now, you will call Eva. Right now. You will make her listen. And you will apologize."

Hilda hesitated, her eyes darting towards Iain, who merely shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was her silent accomplice, the one who always let her lead, always chose peace over truth.

I remembered the last time I saw them all, two months ago. The family had gone on a luxury glamping trip, a forced attempt at togetherness. I, ever the desperate one, had gone, hoping for a sliver of connection, a crumb of their affection.

Carina, of course, had orchestrated the "accident." We were hiking near a cliff edge, and she'd feigned a twisted ankle, screaming that I had pushed her. Their reaction was swift, brutal. Hilda hadn't even let me speak.

"Get out of my sight, Eva!" she' d yelled, her hand striking my face. The sting was nothing compared to the pain in my chest. "You are a menace! Always causing problems!"

Heartbroken, disoriented, I had wandered off the trail, the words echoing in my ears. The storm had rolled in quickly, the wind whipping my hair, the rain blinding me. I' d slipped, falling into a deep, hidden ravine. I broke my leg. I was trapped. Alone.

My fading phone battery had been my last hope. I' d called Hilda, again and again. Begging her to pick up. Begging for help. But she never did. Carina had their phone. Carina had answered one of my desperate pleas, heard my screams, and then hung up. She' d blocked my number, deleted the call logs, to "protect" Hilda. And I had died there, alone and cold, my pleas unheard.

Now, Hilda sat in her gilded cage, complaining to Gwendolyn about my supposed "tantrums."

"She's probably just sulking somewhere, feeling sorry for herself," Hilda said, dismissing Gwendolyn's concerns with a wave of her hand. "She's always been so dramatic. She probably just ran off because she's jealous of Carina's success. She always hated being second best."

Second best? I was never even in the race, Mother.

I remembered Gwendolyn's home, the only place I ever felt safe, ever felt loved. When I was small, after you and Father decided I was a burden, she took me in. She taught me to draw, to see the beauty in the mundane. She was my anchor.

You would visit, sometimes. Brief, strained encounters where your eyes would gloss over mine, as if I were a stranger. You'd ask polite questions, then quickly turn your attention to the latest fashion trend or a charity event. I longed for your touch, your praise, anything.

When you finally decided I was old enough to "join the family," I was ecstatic. I thought it meant you wanted me. I packed my meager belongings, dreaming of a real family, a real home.

But I was wrong. I was just another accessory, a prop in your perfect life. Carina had the latest clothes, the expensive gadgets, the private tutors. Kellan had his sports cars and endless allowances. I had hand-me-downs and a tiny room tucked away in the attic. My dreams of a shared life quickly crumbled, replaced by the crushing weight of their indifference.

I remembered the bright red bicycle I'd coveted for my tenth birthday. Carina got a pony that year. I got a lecture on fiscal responsibility. I learned quickly not to ask, not to hope.

I tried so hard to please them. I studied, I volunteered, I even tried to bond with Carina, despite her constant barbs. I was a ghost in my own home, desperate for acknowledgment. But every effort was met with a shrug, a sigh, or a cutting remark.

Now, as a true ghost, I no longer sought their approval. The longing had curdled into a bitter acceptance.

Gwendolyn' s eyes, usually so sharp, were now filled with sorrow. "Hilda, I am warning you. If Eva is not at my jubilee, I will donate every penny of my fortune to charity. Every single penny. Do not think I am bluffing."

Hilda's face paled. The threat struck her where it hurt most: her carefully constructed facade, her financial security. She glanced at Iain, a silent plea for him to intervene, but he merely cleared his throat again, avoiding her gaze.

"She's probably just trying to make us sweat, Mother," Iain said, a weak attempt at defiance. "Eva is always so manipulative, always looking for a handout."

Manipulative? I only ever wanted your love.

"I will personally ensure she attends," Hilda said, her voice tight with suppressed fury. "I'll track her down. If she thinks she can get away with this, she has another thing coming."

She grabbed her phone, her fingers flying across the screen. She tried my number again, then my old email, then social media. Nothing. The frustration mounted in her, twisting her features.

"Damn that girl!" she finally exploded, throwing the phone onto a plush sofa cushion. "She's completely vanished! It's like she wants to spite me!"

Kellan, who had been quietly scrolling through his phone, finally looked up. "Maybe she'll show up for Grandma's party anyway? Eva always loved Grandma."

A small, genuine concern flickered in his eyes, quickly extinguished as he caught Carina's disapproving glance.

Hilda and Iain exchanged a look. "You think so?" Hilda asked, a sliver of hope in her voice. "She wouldn't miss it, would she?"

They seemed to latch onto the idea, clinging to it like a life raft. A wave of manufactured relief washed over them.

Just then, Kellan, who had switched channels, let out a gasp. "Whoa, check this out!"

On the large flat-screen TV, a news anchor's sombre face appeared. "Breaking news tonight: Authorities have cordoned off a section of the New England National Park after significant findings were made in a remote ravine. While details are scarce, police confirm they are investigating a potential crime scene and have advised the public to stay clear of the area."

The camera panned to a heavily wooded area, yellow police tape fluttering in the wind. A dark, jagged crevice was visible in the distance. The very place I had died. The image on the screen, a chilling premonition, hung heavy in the air.

Eva Graham POV:

The news anchor' s voice, a grim monotone, continued to echo through the lavish living room. "We urge all adventurers and hikers to avoid the New England National Park area. Law enforcement officials are not commenting further at this time, but the scene is active and considered dangerous."

Kellan, still glued to the screen, let out a low whistle. "Man, that's wild. Remember that glamping trip? We were right near there."

Carina, ever the dramatic one, shivered theatrically. "Don't even say that, Kellan. It's creepy. I'm glad we left when we did."

Hilda, her forehead creased in a frown, stared intently at the screen. A flicker of unease crossed her face, quickly replaced by her usual disdain.

Kellan suddenly jumped up, his eyes alight. "Wait, this is perfect! I can tell all my college buddies I almost got caught up in a crime scene! That'll totally boost my cred."

Hilda' s brief tension dissipated, replaced by a slight smile. "Well, that's one way to look at it, dear. But let's not make light of a serious situation."

She turned from the screen, her focus shifting. "Now, about your grandmother's birthday. Have you both thought about what you're going to say for her speech? It needs to be heartfelt, but not overly sentimental. And of course, the gifts. Kellan, you know what she prefers."

"Eva always helped me pick out Grandma's gifts," Kellan mumbled, a rare hint of sadness in his voice. "She had a knack for finding just the right thing."

Carina, sensing a shift in attention, quickly interjected. "Don't worry, Mom. My gift is absolutely perfect. Grandma will be thrilled."

Kellan, already distracted, turned back to the TV, clicking through channels. The news report was gone, replaced by a mindless reality show.

Hilda' s smile faltered at the mention of my name, a familiar sneer tightening her lips. "Eva always had to be the special one, didn't she? Always manipulating Gwendolyn with her 'uniqueness'."

She stood up, her silk dressing gown swishing around her ankles. "I'm going to bed. This whole Eva situation has exhausted me."

She retreated to her spacious bedroom, the door clicking softly behind her. I followed, a silent observer in her gilded cage.

Hilda sank onto her king-sized bed, picking up her phone. She scrolled, then checked her messages. Nothing from me. The silence from my end was deafening, even to her.

She remembered our last conversation, a yelling match, as most of ours were. I had tried to explain why I couldn't come to some charity gala she was hosting. I was working, barely making ends meet. She had accused me of being ungrateful, of trying to sabotage her.

A strange, unfamiliar churn twisted in her gut. It wasn't concern, not really. More like… irritation that her carefully curated life was being disrupted.

She recorded another voicemail, her voice sharper than before. "Eva, this is your mother. I' ve called, I' ve texted. Your grandmother' s jubilee is this weekend. If you don't show up, there will be serious consequences. I'm through with your games. Do not disappoint me."

She threw the phone onto her bedside table and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. My ghost hovers, wanting to cry, but no tears would come.

Consequences? You have no idea, Mother.

I remembered my graduation six months ago. My proudest moment. I had graduated with honors, a degree in graphic design, a path I had chosen myself. I called them, eager for them to be there. But Carina had a minor sniffle, a "terrible allergic reaction" to a new perfume. They cancelled at the last minute.

"We can't leave Carina in this state, Eva," Hilda had said, her voice devoid of apology. "You understand, don't you? Some things are more important."

I didn' t understand. I never did. When I expressed my disappointment, they had banished me. "If you're going to be so dramatic, Eva, perhaps it's best you find your own way. We've done enough for you."

I hadn't told Gwendolyn. She would have been furious with Hilda. I never wanted to cause trouble for her. And I couldn' t bring myself to use her connections to find a job, even when I was starving. My pride, what little I had left, wouldn't allow it.

Hilda knew my weakness. She knew I craved her approval, her love. She had used it against me countless times, threatening to cut me off, to disown me. In the past, I would always cave, always apologize, always try to win her back.

But now, I was dead. Her threats were meaningless. The strings that bound me to her were severed.

The next morning, Hilda woke up to a stream of messages. Not from me, but from her friend, Penelope.

Penelope (8:00 AM): Hilda, darling, everything alright? Haven't seen Eva around. She's usually so good about checking in on me.

Penelope (8:05 AM): I bought her that little art book she wanted for Christmas. Planning to give it to her at Gwendolyn's party. Hope she comes!

Penelope (8:10 AM): I know she's been struggling a bit, but she's such a sweet girl. Always thinking of others.

Hilda read the messages, a strange sense of unease settling in her chest. Penelope meant well, but her constant praise of Eva always grated on her nerves. Eva had always been a "sweet girl" to everyone else, a "troublemaker" to her own family.

She tossed her phone onto the bed. Penelope's words were a distant echo. The quiet in the house, however, was deafening. No calls from me. No texts. Nothing. And for the first time, Hilda felt a cold dread creep into her heart. It wasn't just silence anymore. It was an absence. A void.

Eva Graham POV:

Penelope' s messages were a balm to my ghostly spirit, a gentle whisper of warmth in the cold expanse of my afterlife. She remembers me. She cares.

I remembered Penelope, her kind eyes, her gentle hand on my arm. When I was small, after a particularly harsh scolding from Hilda, Penelope would sneak me cookies and tell me I was special. She' d listen to my dreams of being an artist, nodding encouragingly when my mother would just scoff.

"You're a bright light, Eva," she'd say, her voice soft. "Don't let anyone dim it."

I knew now, in death, that those were kind lies, meant to soothe a lonely child. My mother had effectively extinguished that light.

But even as a ghost, I found myself still tethered to Hilda, unable to fully detach. A part of me, the part that had longed for her acceptance, still hovered, a silent observer of her life. I didn't want to watch her happy, oblivious to my suffering, but I couldn't leave.

Hilda picked up her phone, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

Hilda (8:15 AM): Penelope, darling, everything's fine. Eva is just being Eva. You know how she gets. Of course, she'll be at Mother's jubilee. Wouldn't miss it for the world.

Hilda (8:17 AM): You're still coming, aren't you? It won't be the same without you.

Penelope (8:20 AM): Wouldn't miss it, Hilda! Looking forward to seeing you all. And yes, I'll bring Eva's book. I know she wanted that special edition.

Hilda paused, her thumb hovering over the screen. The special edition? A faint memory stirred within her. I had shown her that book once, years ago. A rare art history text. "Look, Mom," I had said, my voice full of excitement, "Penelope said she might get me this for Christmas! Isn't it beautiful?" Hilda had barely glanced at it, already distracted by a call.

The next day, my absence remained a gaping wound in their carefully constructed reality. No calls, no texts, no sign of me. The silence was absolute.

Gwendolyn arrived early, her presence a crisp, cool breeze cutting through the heavy air of the house. I felt a surge of something akin to joy, a flicker of my old self. Grandma!

I had longed to see her, to feel her comforting embrace, to hear her familiar voice. My ghostly form yearned to reach out, but I was invisible, untouchable. I was trapped, bound by the unfinished business of my life, by the lingering shadow of my mother's indifference. But seeing Gwendolyn, even from this ethereal distance, brought a strange comfort, dulling the sharp edges of my grief.

Carina, ever the opportunist, rushed to Gwendolyn, her face plastered with a saccharine smile. "Grandma! So glad you're here! You look absolutely stunning!"

She embraced Gwendolyn, a practiced display of affection. I watched, remembering how Carina used to use me to get closer to Gwendolyn, fetching her tea, offering to read to her, always with a calculated sweetness.

Gwendolyn, though, was not easily fooled. She returned the hug politely, her eyes already scanning the room. "Where is Eva, Carina?" she asked, her voice firm.

Hilda entered the room, her smile tight. "Mother, you're early! Carina, why don't you get your grandmother some tea?"

Carina scurried off, the picture of a dutiful granddaughter.

Gwendolyn' s eyes, now devoid of any warmth, fixed on Hilda. "Where. Is. Eva?"

Hilda bristled. "Mother, really. Must we do this every time? She's probably just sulking somewhere. You know how she is."

"I know how you are, Hilda," Gwendolyn retorted, her voice icy. "You've always had a cruel streak, especially where Eva is concerned. My only regret is not taking her away from you sooner."

Hilda gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "Mother! How can you say that? I've been nothing but a devoted mother to all my children!"

"Devoted?" Gwendolyn spat the word out like a curse. "You fawn over Carina, spoil Kellan rotten, and treat Eva like dirt beneath your shoe! Don't deny it, Hilda. I have eyes."

Hilda's face flushed crimson. "Eva is manipulative, Mother! She twists things! She drives a wedge between us!"

I drove a wedge? You drove it, Mother. You hammered it in deeper with every dismissive glance, every cruel word.

I remembered the countless times I' d been punished for Carina's lies, for Kellan's pranks. Carina, especially, was a master of manipulation. A tearful accusation, a whispered lie, and I was always the scapegoat. I tried to explain, to defend myself, but my parents never listened. "Eva, stop making excuses! Why can't you be more like Carina?" they'd say, their words a dull thud against my already bruised spirit. I eventually stopped fighting. I accepted my role as the outsider, the black sheep. It was easier than trying to break through their impenetrable wall of bias.

"Enough!" Iain boomed, stepping between the two women. "This is Gwendolyn's birthday. Let's not ruin it."

Gwendolyn shot him a withering look, but her anger, for a moment, seemed to deflate. She tolerated Iain, I knew, because he was Hilda' s choice, a consequence of her own youthful rebellions. But she never truly accepted him, just as she never truly accepted Carina. She saw Carina for what she was: a calculating imposter.

Her eyes flickered to Carina, who had just returned with the tea tray, her smile still firmly in place. A flicker of contempt, quickly masked, crossed Gwendolyn's face.

"Where is Eva?" Gwendolyn asked again, her voice quieter now, but no less insistent. "I want to speak to my granddaughter." Her gaze was fixed on Hilda. The question was a demand, not an inquiry.