All the color drained from my mom's face. She and my dad rushed downstairs together.

"What happened to Samantha?"

My dad's teeth were chattering. "They didn't say. They just told us to get there as soon as possible. Honey... do you think something happened to her?"

Before they could even reach the door, Lola came running out of her room barefoot.

"Aunt Macey, Uncle Roger—are you going to get Samantha? I want to come too."

Just like that, my parents' attention shifted entirely back to Lola. One of them found her shoes. The other grabbed her a jacket.

It was another half hour before they finally left.

In the car, Lola put on a concerned face. "Aunt Macey... did Samantha sneak out of the construction site?"

My mom tensed up. "Why would you say that, Lola? Do you know something?"

Lola hesitated, looking like she'd said something she shouldn't have. My heart dropped. I knew something was wrong. I tried to cover her mouth—but my hand passed right through her face.

"Aunt Macey, Uncle Roger... I've been wanting to tell you this for a while. Samantha has a boyfriend at the construction site. He's broke and ugly, but she's decided to run away with him back to his hometown to get married. She made me promise not to tell you..."

I clawed at Lola's lying mouth. "Shut up! Shut up! I don't have a boyfriend! Lola, why are you doing this to me?!"

But I was already dead. There was nothing I could do to stop her.

"Samantha said that if I told you, she'd make me pay. Aunt Macey, when you see her, please make sure she doesn't blame me."

My mom was livid. "She has no right to blame you for anything, not after pulling something so shameful! If I'd known she'd turn out like this, I would've aborted her when I had the chance."

I broke down. All that was left inside me was ash and bitter laughter. "Mom, I'm already dead. Why won't you believe me? I'm your real daughter. Why do you trust someone else's child over me?"

My dad slammed his fist against the steering wheel. "After all the trouble her mother and I went through to come get her, she abandons us. What a disgrace to this family."

No sooner had he finished speaking than the construction site called again, asking if they were close. Before they could even finish the question, my dad exploded.

"From now on, I don't have a daughter. Whatever happens to her—dead or alive—has nothing to do with me."

He pulled the car over and called his assistant.

"My daughter has run off with some nobody. Post a reward online. Fifty thousand dollars to anyone who finds that ungrateful girl."

Hearing that, I clutched my aching chest and wept.

"Dad... I didn't run off with anyone. I'm dead."

The next day, news spread like wildfire across the internet: the Wheeler family's heiress had shamelessly run away with a random man.

The comments came flooding in, all of them aimed at me.

[This girl has no gratitude. Her family is loaded, and she still runs away? Her parents must be so worried.]

[Look at this photo. She doesn't even look like a rich kid. Ugly and old. My mom looks better than her. That guy must be desperate.]

[I've met the Wheeler family's daughter before. She didn't look like this. She was pretty, dressed well. The person in this photo must be some fake.]

[No wonder she had no shame running off. You can't change bad blood.]

In life, I was bullied, humiliated, and judged by everyone around me.

In death, I was still the target of a million hateful voices. Still seen as nothing but a disgrace.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. My heart—already dead—somehow found a way to hurt all over again.

In the middle of that sweltering summer, my body began to rot. The stench of decay filled the air.

When the contractor couldn't reach my dad, he finally decided to call the police. My body was taken to the station. As the medical examiner cataloged my wounds—old injuries of all different sizes, scattered across my body—he sighed.

"She was so young. What a waste."

The police still couldn't reach my family.

I remembered every one of those scars.

The first was on my forearm.

It happened when Lola came over to our house as a child. She dumped boiling water on my arm. I screamed and cried. The scar never faded.

My mom blamed me for making a big deal out of it—said I got Lola in trouble with her mom.

The second was on my wrist.

The summer after high school, I worked multiple jobs, pushed through the pressure, and got into my dream college. I thought my parents would finally be proud of me. I thought maybe they'd finally look my way.

Instead, my mom tore up my acceptance letter with her own hands.

"Samantha, you know we can only afford to send one kid to college. And that has to be Lola."

Lola cried and told me she was sorry, but her eyes were full of gloating.

I dropped to my knees and pounded on my parents' bedroom door. I begged my dad to let me keep going to school. I said I'd take out loans. I'd borrow money from anyone. I just wanted to learn.

But my voice went hoarse, and the door never opened.

That night, I curled up in the corner of the balcony. I couldn't feel the mosquitoes biting my skin or the summer heat pressing down on me.

On the other side of the door, in the living room, a completely different scene was playing out. My parents sat with Lola between them, laughing and talking excitedly about the college Lola was about to attend.

Just like a real family of three.

I quietly pulled out the fruit knife I'd been hiding for weeks. I cut my wrist.

It hurt. But not nearly as much as what was already inside me.

The third wound. The fourth. The fifth…

Too many scars to count, scattered across my thin, broken body. Every single one of them tied to Lola.

Now, looking at those old wounds again, I felt nothing but stillness.

I'm finally dead, I thought.

I just wondered what my parents' faces would look like when they found out.

A full day and night passed. Still no word from me.

My parents started blowing up my phone.

[Samantha, if you don't come back, just die out there. What did that guy promise you? Money? You'd throw away your own parents for that?]

[Your mother and I broke our backs raising you. So things got tight after the bankruptcy. That's no excuse for you to turn into some gold digger running off with the first loser who smiled at you.]

[Just come home, Samantha. We have money again. You can go back to the good life.]

They didn't know their dead daughter was floating right there in the room, watching every single word they typed.

Then Lola offered a suggestion.

"Aunt Macey, Samantha's always hated that I take some of your attention away. How about this—you formally adopt me into the family in front of everyone. I'll replace Samantha as the family heiress. If she sees that, she'll get mad enough to come home."

Lola had hinted before that she wanted my parents to formally adopt her. I'd refused—locked myself in the attic to stop it—and they'd let it go.

Now I stood in front of my parents, begging.

"Mom, Dad, I'm already dead! I'm never coming back! Please don't let Lola replace me. I'm your daughter. I'm your daughter!"

My parents hesitated for just a moment. Then they agreed.

The next day, they invited all their relatives and friends. They even brought in the most respected elder of the family to serve as witness. My own first birthday hadn't been half as grand.

They streamed the whole ceremony live. My parents gave one final threat straight into the camera.

"Samantha, your mother and I are giving you one more day. If you still don't come home, starting tomorrow, we will no longer recognize you as our daughter. Lola will become our one and only daughter."

My ears rang. The cruel comments from viewers sliced into me like knives.

[Now THIS is what a rich daughter should look like. That woman in the photo must have been a fake all along.]

[Am I the only one hoping the fake one just stays dead out there? Why come back after being such an ungrateful snake?]

[They really are mother and daughter. They look so alike.]

The ceremony marched toward its end. I never appeared.

The family attorney opened the thick leather-bound registry book. He was ready to strike out my name and enter Lola's in its place. But before he did, he turned to my parents one last time.

"Are you absolutely certain?"

My mom's eyes were red. She clenched her jaw. "She made her choice. So I'm making mine."

My dad said nothing. Just let out a long, heavy sigh.

Then I watched—witnessed—as my own name was scratched out. And Lola's was written.

My heart split in two. I collapsed to my knees, unable to stand anymore.

From my dried-up eyes, blood tears poured down my face. I threw my head back and laughed—a bitter, broken sound.

Lola smiled, satisfied. The online viewers cheered. The attorney closed the book.

"From this day forward, Lola is the only daughter of Macey Kinder and Roger Wheeler. Samantha Rogers no longer exists."

The words had barely landed when my parents' assistant—the one who'd been searching for me—burst into the room. His voice shook as it reached every ear.

"Sir… two days ago, your daughter was killed in a collapse at the construction site."