The next day, my body felt weightless. The stomach pain that had been driving me insane was gone.

I looked down and saw a body lying on the floor with a purple and blue face, as well as white foam and dark red blood crusted at the corners of the mouth.

That was me. That was Layla Lloyd, as dead as a doornail.

I floated in midair, staring at my own stiff corpse. It looked almost like a stranger. Now, the girl who had always kept her head down would never have to bow to anybody again.

Sunlight streamed through the window and fell directly across my body. Too bad I could not feel its warmth anymore.

The sound of the television blared from the living room. Mom was watching her favorite variety show, exaggerated laughter echoing from the speakers.

I drifted through the door and into the living room. Mom sat cross-legged on the couch with a handful of pistachios, cracking them and spitting shells all over the floor. She laughed so hard she rocked back and forth, completely unaware that her daughter had become a corpse.

"Mom, why isn't Layla up yet?" Liam looked up and asked.

The smile vanished from Mom's face instantly. She rolled her eyes. "Who cares about that brat? I’d prefer if she starved to death so she stops being an eyesore. She made such a mess yesterday. I bet she's too ashamed to show her face."

I floated in front of her and spoke slowly, "Mom, I'm already dead."

However, she could no longer hear me.

Just then, someone knocked on the door. Outside stood May Goodwin, who ran the small diner downstairs.

"Fernanda, is Layla home?" May smiled warmly.

"Layla didn't come to help at the shop yesterday. I was worried about her. I just made a fresh pot of chicken soup and wanted to bring her some."

I drifted to the doorway and breathed in the aroma as deeply as I could. May’s cooking was one of the few things in this world that had ever given me warmth.

"Oh, May, you're too kind." Mom took the container.

"That brat threw a tantrum at me yesterday and locked herself in her room. The kid just doesn't know any better. We’re sorry to worry you."

May hesitated, looking disappointed. "All right, then. I'll head back."

After May left, Mom walked straight to the trash can and dumped the entire container inside.

"What kind of trash is this anyway? As if that brat deserves to eat something like this! Garbage people can only eat garbage."

My heart had already stopped beating, but I still felt a wave of cold wash over me. In my mother’s eyes, I was not even worth a bowl of soup.

I floated above the trash can, overwhelmed by sadness. That soup was May's kindness. It was the warm meal I had craved most when I was alive. Now, it sat mixed with rotten vegetable scraps.

Suddenly, a small hand reached into the trash can. It was Liam. While Mom had gone back to watch TV in the living room, he snuck into the kitchen.

He scooped up some of the soup with his hand, not bothering to check if it was dirty, and tasted it. Then, he grabbed a piece of chicken and tiptoed to my bedroom door.

He spoke softly through the closed door, "Layla, don't be mad at Mom anymore. May's chicken soup is really good, and I saved you the best piece! Open the door and eat some before it gets cold, okay?"

I looked at his innocent face and at the greasy piece of chicken in his hand. I wanted to cry, but ghosts had no tears.

"Silly boy! Your sister can't eat anymore. She will never taste chicken soup again."

I reached out, wanting to touch his head, but my hand passed straight through his hair.

Two days after I died, a strange smell began to seep from my room.

Mom paused mid-step as she walked past my door and covered her nose. "That brat must be hoarding leftovers in there again and turning her room into a pigsty! It reeks!"

I floated nearby and watched her grab a box of mothballs from the cabinet. Then, she got down on her hands and knees and shoved them one by one through the crack of my door, trying to cover up the smell of death.

The white mothballs rolled into the room and stopped beside my corpse.

"Mom, that's not the smell of garbage. That's the smell of your daughter rotting."

Did she not suspect anything at all? If she just opened the door and looked, just once, she would finally see. However, she did not.

Mom dusted off her hands, looking pleased with herself.

Just then, the delivery guy downstairs shouted up, "Layla! You've got mail!"

Mom went down to get it and came back with a thick envelope stamped with the City Culinary Association’s logo.

Getting in had been my dream. I had saved up my breakfast money for half a year and entered a competition in secret without Mom knowing.

I had won first place. Inside the envelope was not just an award certificate, but also a recommendation letter for an internship at the city's only five-star hotel.

With that letter, I could have made a living with my own skills.

I floated behind Mom, staring at that envelope with everything I had left.

"Mom, open it and look! Your daughter is not worthless. I made something of myself!"

Mom looked at the words on the envelope, and her face darkened.

"Culinary Association? More of this nonsense! Instead of focusing on school, all she does is embarrass us!"

She did not even bother opening it properly. She grabbed both ends and ripped the envelope in half.

I screamed and lunged forward, trying to save those pieces, but I could not hold onto anything.

Mom carried the torn envelope to the bathroom and dumped every scrap into the toilet. As the water swirled, the papers that represented my achievement disappeared completely down the drain.

Mom spat into the toilet bowl. "You're spending the rest of your life taking care of your brother. If you think you can leave, keep dreaming!"

That evening, my father, Brian Lloyd, called from out of town. He drove trucks for a living and only came home once a month.

"Hey, honey, has Layla come out yet?" His voice came through the phone, tinged with exhaustion.

Mom was putting on a face mask as she answered carelessly. "Oh, she's really outdone herself this time. She’s throwing a tantrum because I won't let her go learn some stupid cooking thing. She locked herself in her room on a hunger strike. It's already been two days."

Dad sighed on the other end. "If the kid wants to learn, just let her. At least it's a trade. Don't be too hard on her. Go check on her! Make sure she's not actually starving."

Mom exploded at that. "Brian! What are you trying to say? That I'm abusing her? She's my daughter too, and I have a right to teach her discipline! Missing a couple of meals won't kill her! If she gets hungry enough, she'll crawl out on her own!"

She hung up without another word and threw the phone onto the couch. "Everyone's determined to stress me out! I must have done something terrible to deserve being stuck with this family!"

I floated in the air and let my head drop in defeat.

"Dad, if you had just pressed her a little harder, or if you had driven home right then, maybe you could have seen me one last time while I still looked human."

However, there were no ifs in life.

By the third day after my death, the stench of decay had become so strong that even the mothballs could not cover it anymore. Mom sprayed an entire can of air freshener in the living room.

"You brat! Did you take a dump in there or something? It's just some stupid cooking job. Is doing all this really worth it? Open this door right now so I can teach you a lesson!"

Just then, urgent footsteps came from outside. Dad had come home three days earlier than planned.

He had called my phone countless times over the past few days, and it had been off every single time. His fatherly unease drove him to get in his truck and drive through the night.

He carried a large box in his hands. It was the latest model of the oven I wanted, the birthday gift I had been talking about for three solid years.

"Layla! Dad's home!"

The moment Dad walked through the door, the smile on his face froze before it could fully form. The smell hit him like a physical force.

As a long-haul truck driver, he knew that smell far too well. He had seen too many gruesome accidents on the highway. That smell only came from one thing: decomposition.

"What is that smell?" Dad's face went deathly pale.

When Mom saw Dad, her eyes shifted nervously. "What smell? That brat is doing God knows what in her room. She’s turned it into a garbage dump..."

"Bullsh*t!" For the first time in his life, Dad swore at Mom.

He rushed to my bedroom door and pounded on it with his fist. "Layla! Open the door! It's Dad! Open up right now!"

Silence from inside. No response, no footsteps, not even the sound of breathing.

My spirit stood beside Dad. I watched his trembling hands and felt a storm of emotions.

"Dad, you finally came home. It's too late, though. I'm already gone."

Liam heard the commotion and came running over, clutching an apple he had secretly hidden away. Tears streamed down his face.

"Dad, please make Layla open the door! She hasn't eaten anything in three days! She hasn't even come out to use the bathroom! I called for her, but she won't answer me!"

Three days?

Dad's eyes instantly became bloodshot at those words. He whipped around to face Mom. "Three days? You let her stay locked in there for three days?"

Mom flinched at the look in his eyes and took a step back, though she still tried to argue. "She's the one who wouldn't come out! What was I supposed to do?"

She rushed forward and snatched the apple from Liam's hands, smashing it on the floor.

"Stop trying to feed her! She's faking it! Do you think she's going to threaten me by dying? She doesn't have the guts! Every time she throws a fit, it's all bark and no bite. I don't believe she'll actually do it!"

"Shut your mouth!" Dad's roar came out ragged and terrifying.

He shoved Mom aside. She stumbled backward and crashed into the shoe cabinet.

"Layla! Can you hear me? Get back from the door! Dad's breaking it down!"

Dad did not hesitate another second. He threw his full weight against the locked door.

The first impact made the door frame shudder. Dust rained down from above.

The second impact came with the sound of splintering wood around the lock.

After the third massive crash, the door flew open.