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.

Mom screamed. She swayed, and her knees gave way. With a thud, she fell to the floor. After some time, she returned to her senses.

She pointed at the body in disbelief. "W-What's her name?"

Someone answered, "I think she's called Xenia Hudson. What a nice name."

Another asked, "What's wrong?"

Like a puppet, Mom stood up stiffly. Her eyelashes trembled, and she seemed devastated. Reaching out, she tried to caress my face.

But alas, what she touched was a chunk of loose meat that would fall apart at the slightest touch.

After that, everyone else watched in confusion as Mom vomited a mouthful of blood. Her eyes were bloodshot.

In great pain, she mumbled to herself, almost inaudible. I could only hear parts of it. She was asking me to open my eyes.

I watched coldly as she wept on my shoulders and fainted in my blood.

I felt slightly pleased. Mom, I didn't know you'd cry for me.

…

It was the third day since Mom locked herself in the house. Endless feelings of remorse drifted into my spirit like starlight. I tried to move and was able to bring up a slight breeze.

The police called many times. They wanted my family to claim what I had with me before I died.

However, Mom seemed oblivious. She kept repeating, "My daughter isn't dead! She isn't dead. She hasn't seen the doll I bought for her. She hasn't heard my apology…"

She covered her face as sobs escaped the gaps between her fingers.

Just like that, she lay on my bed. She hugged my blanket and covered herself with my clothes. She kept sniffing them.

When the police arrived with my belongings, she no longer had the strength to stand. Her hair was a mess, and she appeared lifeless.

"These are Xenia Hudson's belongings in her bag when she died. Condolences."

At their words, Mom dropped to the floor from the bed. Struggling, she inched forward and picked up the item.

It was a bottle of specially formulated foundation. Mom usually used it when applying makeup for bodies.

I searched the entire city for it, but no one was selling it.

I was young and wasn't good with my words. When I asked about makeup for bodies, the shopkeepers would chase me out with a broom.

"How unlucky," they would say.

However, I remembered Mom lamenting how difficult it was to get the foundation. If so, why not I please her for once?

I searched long and hard. I didn't mind it at all when the shopkeepers splashed me with water. After much effort, I managed to buy a bottle of foundation, yet when I crossed the junction…

Mom must've recalled what she said. When she looked at the bottle again, her eyes were void of life.

Then, she cradled the bottle in her arms, tightening her embrace around it. "Xenia…"

When she heard of my death, Mrs. Turner visited with some candles. Mom had calmed down by then. She could open the curtains and greet Mrs. Turner emotionlessly.

"Xenia… We can't bring the dead back to life. You should also look after yourself. Otherwise, Xenia will feel sad if she sees you in this state."

She patted Mom's shoulder in comfort.

"No, she won't… I've been terrible to her…" Mom said, cradling the doll.

Tiffany looked out from behind Mrs. Turner. She was wearing a princess-style dress.

As she wrapped her arms around Mom's neck, she sweetly said, "Maria, don't be upset! You still have me."

Before Mrs. Turner could stop her, Mom grabbed Tiffany's fair arms so hard that she left a red mark on them.

She stared at the gold bracelet on Tiffany's wrist.

With all her might, she grabbed it and started to yank it off Tiffany. "This bracelet belongs to Xenia! Give it back to me! Give it back!"

Tiffany cried out in pain. Her hand turned a bluish-green as the bracelet got stuck on her wrist.