In the family photo, I stood at the very edge, as if I had wandered into the frame by mistake. I looked like an outsider who did not belong.

I drifted toward the window and watched the ambulance pull away, its blue and red lights flashing across the early morning streets.

They still had not realized that I was dead.

Back in my bedroom, my phone began to ring. I floated through the wall and saw the screen light up on my desk.

The caller ID showed Homeroom Teacher Leslie Lynch. The phone rang until it switched to voicemail.

"Hello, this is Miss Lynch, Rainie's homeroom teacher. Rainie didn't come to school today and didn't request leave. Is she sick? Please contact the school as soon as possible."

Sunlight slipped through the curtains and spread across my desk. My textbooks for today's classes sat there in neat stacks.

After school, I had planned to buy the new art album released this week. Now I would never need it.

My soul drifted without control and followed the direction my family had gone.

At the hospital's emergency department, my sister lay on a bed with an IV in her arm. A sedative had finally quieted her.

The doctor finished examining her and frowned slightly.

"Just shock," he said as he removed his stethoscope. "Nothing serious. She only needs rest."

"Thank God," my mother said. She collapsed into a chair as tears streamed down her face.

My father wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "It's okay. Stella will be fine."

I stood directly in front of them.

I tried to shout, "Look at me! I'm dead! Your eldest daughter is dead!"

My voice could not reach the living.

A nurse entered with a clipboard. "Would you like to complete the hospital admission paperwork?"

"Of course," my father said at once as he stood. "My daughter needs the best care."

The nurse lowered her head and wrote something down.

"The patient's name is Stella Somerset, correct?"

"Yes, she—"

"What about the other patient?" the nurse asked suddenly. "The paramedics mentioned another injured young woman at the scene."

My parents exchanged puzzled looks.

"Oh, you mean Rainie?" my mother said, waving her hand dismissively. "She's fine. She just fell and bumped her head. She should be resting at home."

The nurse nodded and left.

I closed my eyes. They still had not realized that I had already stopped breathing.

On the hospital bed, my sister shifted and let out a faint groan.

My mother rushed to her side at once. "Baby, what hurts? Tell Mommy."

"Rainie..." my sister whispered weakly. "Rainie wants to hurt me."

"Don't be afraid," my mother said quickly. "Mom won't let her hurt you."

She stroked my sister's hair with astonishing tenderness. "Your sister only knocked over a cup by accident. She didn't mean it."

"No!" My sister suddenly grew agitated. "She did it on purpose! She hates me!"

Her voice rose. "She always says I'm the burden of the family. That I'm a disaster. One day I'll kill everyone!"

Her breathing quickened. The numbers on the monitor jumped wildly.

Doctors and nurses rushed in again, and another wave of chaos filled the room.

I drifted to the corner and watched in silence.

Since we were little, whenever my sister said, "My sister hates me," my parents looked at me with disappointment, as if I had committed some unforgivable crime.

"Stella says you hid her toys."

"Stella says you woke her up on purpose last night."

"Stella says you put something in her water."

Even now, when I was already dead, they still believed every word she said.

My father's phone suddenly rang. He stepped into the hallway to answer it.

"Hello? Oh, Officer Stone. What?!"

The color drained from his face.

"No. That is impossible." His voice trembled. "Are you sure it's our Rainie?"

From the phone came the cold, steady voice of a police officer. "Preliminary assessment indicates the deceased is a 16-year-old female. Fatal trauma to the back of the head. Estimated time of death is at least three hours ago."

There was a pause.

"We have confirmed the identity. The deceased is your eldest daughter, Rainie Somerset."