After the plane crash, my body was never recovered.

My soul drifted back to the home I hadn't stepped foot in for five years.

They didn't know I was dead. They were still waiting for me to come home for Christmas.

When my mom got the call from the airline, she froze for a long time, completely at a loss, before breaking down in tears.

I followed them as they went to the memorial crash site. That was when I noticed something strange—I could see their levels of regret hovering above their heads.

My brother's regret level read: 40%.

My father's showed: 60%.

Even my sister-in-law had 30% over her head.

But my mother's regret level?

It flashed a cold, unchanging 0%.

In those last moments before the plane went down, I wasn't freaking out or anything. Nope, it was all about regret.

Five years of silence between me and my parents, and today was supposed to fix that. But nope, the universe didn't approve. So, yeah, on Christmas Eve, my life just... stopped.

Next thing I knew, my soul was drifting all over the place before finally landing at the front door of the house I hadn't seen in five years.

The door was decked out with a Christmas wreath, and the windows had those cheesy snowflake decals.

I reached out to push the door open, but—plot twist—my hand went right through it. Right. Because I was dead.

That plane crash? Yeah, none of us made it. All 140 passengers. Gone.

I floated inside, slowly. The house was full of Christmas cheer, with string lights all over the walls.

Inside, my parents and Peggy Twain—aka my sister-in-law—were baking cookies. My younger brother, Chad Saun, was at the far end, glued to his phone and totally zoned into some video game. Meanwhile, my nephew, Asher, was running laps in new clothes, happily crashing his toy train into everything.

The vibe? Full-on Christmas cheer.

My mom, after finishing molding the last tray of cookie dough, glanced at the clock on the wall. Her face tightened, and she turned to Chad, who was still in gamer mode.

"It's already late. Why isn't Natalie home yet? She said three or four, and now it's almost seven. Call her and see where she is," she said.

Chad didn't even look up. "I'm in the middle of a game. Maybe the flight's delayed. Just wait. She said she'd come, right? She's not gonna bail."

Mom shot him a glare. "Five years ago, I used all of Natalie's savings to help you buy a house and get married. She's been mad at me ever since and hasn't been back home once.

"This year, I begged her to come for Christmas, and she finally agreed. When she gets here, you'd better step up and bond with her. Whether or not you get a car this year is riding on Natalie."

Her words hit like a slap.

I stumbled back, staring at her. Seriously?

That tearful phone call where she said she missed me, how hard life had been for me, how much she wanted me home for Christmas? Yeah, turns out it was all BS.

And I fell for it. Rearranged my schedule, swapped shifts, worked extra to cover for it, and forked over a ridiculous amount for that flight. All so I could hop on what ended up being the death flight.

If she hadn't kept pushing, I never would've gotten on that plane.

"Mom, who cares about the car?" Peggy cut in. "It's Christmas—don't bring this up now. If you tick Natalie off, she might not come back for years.

"Besides, Asher's starting school in a couple years. We'll probably need to sell this house and get one in a better district. When that happens, we'll need Natalie's help again."

She adjusted her sleeves, flashing a gold bracelet on her wrist.

I froze.

That bracelet. I bought it for my mom with my first paycheck. Five years ago, I asked her why she wasn't wearing it, and she told me she didn't like jewelry.

Now I knew the truth. She gave it to Peggy.

I let out a sharp, bitter laugh.

Peggy's ambitions were crystal clear. My savings were drained for their wedding, and now, with her kid starting school, she had her sights set on me again.

What a family of leeches. Absolutely disgusting.

I shook my head, too sickened to stay. But when I tried to leave, I couldn't.

Frustrated, I turned back toward them, forced to watch.

Then Chad suddenly sat up, clutching his phone.

"Was Natalie's flight QM8025?" he asked, his voice shaky.

Mom frowned. "I think so. Why? Is she not coming home after all?"

Chad shot to his feet, his face drained of color. "That plane crashed."

The next morning, the phone rang, and my mom snatched it up instantly. Holding the receiver, she stared at my dad with this weird look, nodding and shaking her head like she couldn't decide what emotion to land on.

Finally, she hung up and dropped to her knees, full-on sobbing.

"Natalie was on that plane. They said... she's gone. Not even a body was recovered...

"The airline said they're coming over later to take blood samples—to confirm if Natalie was really our daughter.

"Why would they need to test for that? Don't I know she's my daughter?"

Her voice cracked as she kept crying, shaking with grief.

My dad crouched beside her, helping her up. His face wasn't exactly sad, though. It was more... off. Like he was trying to hide something.

"They're coming. We can't stop them," he said, his tone careful. "Just be ready. When they get here, we cooperate. If they can find Natalie... that's what matters."

Mom slowly nodded, though her reluctance was plain. She turned to Chad. "When the airline people get here, you stay out of sight. Let them take blood from your dad and me. That'll be enough."

Chad rolled his eyes. "Natalie and I are real siblings. If anyone should be tested, it's me and Dad. Mom, you don't need to get involved."

Her face twisted with fury, and she raised her hand to slap him. Chad dodged just in time, but before things could escalate, a car horn blared outside.

Her whole demeanor shifted. She shot Chad a sharp warning glance.

"Go hide," she hissed, already walking briskly toward the door.

The airline reps were polite, all business, and Mom played along, nodding and cooperating. But her unease was obvious in the way she clasped her hands too tightly. Normally, she'd be making small talk like it was her superpower, but today, she kept her head down, quiet and tense.

"Mrs. Saun," one of the reps said, "we'll take you and your husband to the memorial site today. The test results will only take two or three hours, and we'll be able to confirm everything. Please pack your things and come with us."

Mom lifted her head, biting her lip like she was stalling for time, then glanced at my dad. "Are we leaving now?"

Dad nodded, but before he could get a word out, Chad popped out from his so-called hiding spot, strolling over with his trademark sleazy grin.

"My sister's dead. The airline must be paying a lot in compensation, right?"

Classic Chad. I let out this bitter laugh because, seriously? My body hadn't even been found yet, and the guy was already dreaming up ways to cash in.

Mom's lips twitched—like she was this close to agreeing with him—but she recovered fast, yanked Chad behind her, and started badgering Dad to pack.

"Take the family records!" Chad yelled after him.

The airline only wanted my parents to go, but no way was Chad leaving Peggy and Asher behind. Peggy climbed into the car like she was being sentenced to hard labor, muttering complaints the whole way.

By the time everyone crammed in, the car was packed tighter than a clown car. The airline reps just sat there, squished and helpless.

When they got to the memorial site, everyone let out a collective sigh of relief and practically scrambled out of the car.

Inside, the main hall was packed. The second the doors opened, the sound of wailing and cries hit like a wave.

Mom glanced at Dad, something sharp flickering in her eyes, but then joined in, mimicking the other grieving families.

Peggy hung back with Asher, glaring at Chad.

Chad stood near the front, craning his neck to see what was happening inside.

I stood there, watching the four of them with zero emotion.

Then I noticed something weird—bright red numbers floating above their heads.

At first, I thought my eyes were messing with me. I blinked hard, but nope, the numbers were still there, sharper now, hovering like neon signs.

Curious, I stepped closer. Beneath each number was this little line of text: The lower the regret value, the weaker the familial bond.

I glanced around the room. Everyone had numbers. The people crying the hardest had regret values between 90% and 100%.

My dad? His regret valu[e flickered between 50% and 60%. Even Chad and Peggy landed somewhere in the 30% to 40% range.

Then I looked at my mom.

Her regret value was a flat 0.