It's my third day of being a ghost, and I feel like I'm going to starve to death again.

The underworld messenger takes pity on me because I'm a child and secretly tells me that people like me, who suffered grievances and died with resentment, have to stay by the sides of the people who loved us most in life. Then, we survive on their "guilt".

I lower my head and narrow my eyes. I choke up and say, "You might as well just leave me to starve."

My mother hated me to the core. Why would she ever be guilty over my death?

Mrs. Turner was consoling my mother, saying, "It's okay. She's just a child. She'll become better as she grows up."

"Bringing that up makes me even angrier! It's my birthday today, but she's nowhere to be seen!"

Mom's cutleries scraped against the table, letting out a noise that grated on the ears. Just then, her phone rang.

I silently floated closer and took a look. It was from my class teacher, Ms. Reed. It seemed she had realized I hadn't turned up for school today.

However, Mom didn't save her number. The phone rang on and on. Finally, Mom's patience wore out, and she answered it.

"What? How dare she play hooky!" Her furious voice rang throughout the hall.

I heard Ms. Reed explaining urgently, "No, it's not that, Ms. Allen. I'm saying she hasn't come to school today."

To Mom, it was the same.

She roared in anger for some time before ringing my number furiously. "She never lets me have a peace of mind. She never tells me where she's going. What have I done to deserve this?"

Mrs. Turner had to remind her, "Hey, I remember you changed your number. Maybe she's afraid to answer a call from an unknown number."

My heart went cold. It turned out that Mom had changed her number.

After the truck had run me over, I dialed her number with my last breath. Now, it seemed the number I had dialed was a number that would never be picked up.

My heart ached so much that even my spirit trembled.

I'd reached out for my phone with every last bit of energy left and dialed her number.

As blood trickled out of my body, the truck driver reversed in fear and drove over me repeatedly. Not one part of my body was spared.

Before I died, I had been wondering if Mom would get mad at me for forgetting to wish her a happy birthday.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. I wanted to question her. However, her gaze fell past me and on a little girl who was running toward her.

She called out in a gentle tone, "Tiffany! Come here!"

I stared as that adorable girl leaped into Mom's arms. She snuggled against Mom affectionately.

Beaming, she held an award over her head proudly.

"Look, Maria! See how smart I am. I'm smarter than Xenia!"

Again. I knew what Mom would say before she did.

"Of course! You're the smartest child on earth! Xenia can never compare to you!"

But, Mom, I'd always scored full marks when I was at her age.

My teachers had praised me for being a genius. My classmates would always come to me after class so I could explain the topic to them.

Still, how would she know all that?

When I came running home excitedly with my certificates, she'd use them as table risers.

When I won first place, and she was to give a speech, she would rather take photos of Tiffany to record her schooldays.

She used to say, "So what if you're good at studies, Xenia Hudson? You're rotten from within!"

I would always be left alone with a forced smile, surrounded by other parents.

I'd say, "My mom is busy with work. She'll come next time."

My heart was filled with bitterness. Why would my heart ache when I'd already died?

Meanwhile, Tiffany managed to bring a smile to Mom's face. She was Mrs. Turner's daughter. When she first learned about Mom's occupation, she darted to Mom in awe.

She had exclaimed, "Your job is so cool!"

Right after she said that, Mom's tense look softened. She then put on the gold bracelet my grandmother had given me for Tiffany.

I had pursed my mouth, feeling the urge to cry. However, Mom shoved my hand aside and hugged Tiffany instead. She sang to her the lullaby I'd only heard once.

I couldn't stay a second longer, but an invisible force bound me to Mom. Still, I felt no remorse from her.

I was starving, but they were celebrating the moment merrily. Mom called Tiffany her sweetheart and kissed her affectionately.

When they'd finally finished dinner, Mom pulled a thick envelope from her purse and gave it to Tiffany.

It was a special ritual they both shared.

Mom didn't get paid much, but she would save more for Tiffany by cutting my allowances instead.

After all, as she once said, "Tiffany should've been my daughter instead of you, you ungrateful child."

She was most probably thinking of buying new clothes for her dear goddaughter, Tiffany Turner, when she broke my piggy bank.

I was forced to follow Mom home.

We passed through streets and alleys, even passing by the junction where my accident had happened.

The police had closed off the area with yellow tape. When we neared, there was still the smell of blood in the air.

Mom didn't pause. She seemed frustrated for some reason. Her frustration peaked when she returned home and realized I wasn't back.

"Xenia Hudson! The audacity!"

As Mom scolded, she scrolled through her contacts.

"Roger Hudson, your beloved daughter has gone over to your place again, right? You're all a bunch of scoundrels, always bullying me and me only over the years!"

I couldn't hear what Dad said on the other end of the receiver. All I heard was Mom's increasingly loud roar echoing throughout the room.

At last, her roars became hysterical screams and sobbing.

She lamented how difficult it had been for her as a single mother. She complained about me biting the hands that fed me.

Instinctively, I reached out to wipe off her tears. As I always had, I wanted to assure her, saying, "Mom, I'll always be with you."

In fact, I'd never thought of leaving her.

When I was in primary school, I slowly understood why Mom was so angry all those years back.

She bravely shielded me from my paternal grandmother, Margaret Fawne, who'd pick favorites. However, I stabbed her in the back. Although I did it unknowingly, I still hurt her.

So, I picked up on household chores and collected recyclables to make extra money.

Mom loved drinking. Every time she drank, she'd vent her anger on me. However, there was a period when I'd secretly hoped she'd get drunk.

Only when she lay asleep on the couch could I study her up close. I could also hug her without fearing the sudden slaps she'd throw at me.

Slowly and carefully, I'd rest my head in her arms.

That one time when she gave me a ferocious beating was an exception. I ran out of the house and all the way to Dad's new house.

I saw Dad holding a toy robot and making funny faces at his son.

I didn't dare to say anything, worried I'd barge in on others' happiness.

Dad saw me. He also saw the wounds I hid under my sleeves.

At that moment, I burst into tears. Trembling, I reached out. "Dad, I want a hug."

Shocked, Dad attempted to caress my wounds with shaking hands.

"Dad, I don't know how to put this robot together. Come help me!"

That voice made Dad's hands freeze in midair. He pulled out his phone.

I was flustered. I couldn't let Mom know I had gone to Dad's house. She'd be sad. Clenching my jaws, I slapped his phone away and scurried off.

I didn't dare to go home.

The wind was blowing strongly. When I passed a bridge arch, the beggars there kept eyeing me. Under their suffocating gazes, I kept on running, afraid to even pause. When I returned to my senses, I realized I'd lost one of my shoes.

My kind neighbor found me by the garbage cans. I was shaking all over.

When she took me home, Mom glared at me as though I was her nemesis. "Hadn't you gone to your Dad's? Why are you back?"

Shrinking back, I tried to explain. But to her, I was making meaningless excuses.

Until now, Mom firmly believed I would be at Dad's place if I hadn't returned home by midnight.

She got up. Cursing under her breath, she locked her door. After setting her alarm, she went to bed.

I looked out at the cold, dark night. It was about 14 degrees Fahrenheit outside. I thought it was fortunate that I was dead. If I'd stayed out, I would've become a human popsicle.

I flipped through Mom's schedule. She was on the afternoon shift tomorrow.

I recalled what I read in a book about mortuary restoration. By tomorrow afternoon, I would look all the more terrible. I wondered if Mom would cry if she saw my corpse.

Mom was awakened by a call from the police. They finally found my family's contact.

The voice on the other end of the receiver sounded grim and sad. They kept expressing their condolences.

Mom was stunned. Suddenly, she burst out laughing. "Tell me, how much did Xenia pay you guys for this? She's trying to draw my attention, huh?"

She ended the phone call agitatedly.

Then, she sat in silence, muttering to herself. She couldn't believe that I would be killed in an accident. She assumed I'd paid some people to put on the act in fear of her anger.

She even scolded me for being naughty at such a young age. As she did, she seemed much more at ease. She even started humming as she tidied the house.

Then, her phone rang incessantly once again.

"Stop calling. Tell her I won't hit her if she comes home now."

Mom started feeling uneasy. She hurriedly tidied up the room. Then, she hopped onto her e-bike and headed straight for Dad's house.

On the way, she kept mumbling something about me getting into trouble if she got her hands on me. She also called me heartless.

I followed her and watched her get a locksmith to unlock the door. Once she got inside the house, she shouted for me to show myself.

Then, she ran to a small room furthest away from the door. After my parents divorced, Dad once promised to keep that room as mine.

However, it was now a storeroom. Gardening tools and discarded toys were strewn across the floor.

Mom choked and coughed at the dust covering the room. She was stunned. She knew this was supposed to be my room.

Her face contorted with anger as she rushed out, wanting to question Dad about this.

Just then, familiar voices came from outside the house. It was Grandma and Dad.

They must've received the police's call.

Grandma said with assurance, "It's fine. It's evidently that wretch's idea. She only birthed a daughter, yet she fought back against me because of that child. Now that you're rich, she's trying to get our attention by using her daughter."

Dad hung his head. Stuttering, Dad retorted, "But it seems Maria has been mistreating Xenia."

Grandma burst out laughing. Her eyes glinted wickedly.

"Of course she would! It's thanks to me. I painstakingly taught Xenia to express her dissatisfaction with her mother. I even spent hours teaching her to say those wretched words. Otherwise, if Xenia and Maria got along well, how would you get Xenia to take care of you when you get older?"

Mom stood rooted to the spot, taken aback.

When she came to her senses, she'd already darted out and grabbed Grandma's neck. "So it's you, you old hag! I wondered how Xenia learned to say something like that at such a young age."

They tugged at and scolded each other until Dad separated them.

Mom plopped on the floor, staring blankly ahead. After some time, she asked, "Is Xenia really not here?"

Grandma huffed, "That little beggar will never get to step inside my house as long as I'm alive!"

Mom remembered that one night many years back. She mumbled, "Then… where did my Xenia go that winter…"

No one could answer her.

After she left Dad's house, she called Mrs. Turner with trembling hands.

Her voice quivering, she told Mrs. Turner about it. "Where do you think she will go at this hour?"

Mrs. Turner consoled her, saying, "Xenia's smart. She's probably sulking and is at her friend's house now."

Her words seemed to reassure Mom, and she regained composure. "Yes, that must be it. She wants me to give in first."

Suddenly, I felt a surge of energy in my body, formed by the guilty feelings of the person I loved the most.

I carefully experienced it. It wasn't much, but it gave me sufficient energy to continue following Mom.

I watched her enter an accessories shop. Rubbing her hands together, she bought an adorable doll.

A loving expression crossed her face. "I'll give Xenia this doll when she returns."

I reached out and gently touched it. It was soft. It was my first time seeing such a beautiful doll.

I watched Mom suppress her uneasiness and go to work. She changed into her uniform and entered the funeral parlor.

On the table lay my body, covered with a white cloth.

Mom flipped open the cover at my legs first. Because of being trampled over, my legs were out of shape. My knees were dislocated.

Someone gagged, but Mom was very calm. She was capable in her work and could work for long hours.

Taking out a wet cloth, she carefully wiped me down. It also took her much effort to realign my bones.

Next was my trunk. There was a huge hole in it where my intestines were blocking.

Mom put on her gloves and started stuffing my intestines back inside. Then, she sewed the hole, exclaiming, "How thin. She's clearly not been eating well."

I touched my stomach. Indeed, I hadn't been eating well. To save money for Mom's birthday present, I ate only one meal a day and drank water to satisfy my hunger. Naturally, I lost weight.

After restoring my body, she came to my face, which was the hardest part of all.

"I heard her face is in horrible condition. I guess we'll take a long time restoring it," said an intern with round eyes.

Mom glared at her. Shutting her eyes, she prayed.

She said, "Even so, we have to do it. How else could the family bring themselves to look at their child?"

The intern refuted softly, "No one has come to claim the body. I heard the police phoned the family this morning but they didn't show up."

Mom fell silent. After the ritual, everyone bowed respectfully.

Taking a deep breath, Mom drew back the white cloth covering my face.