Her Neglect, My Undying Haunted Soul

I was the biological daughter, yet my mother looked at me with disgust while worshipping my adopted sister, Carina.

When I vanished for two months, my mother laughed it off as a "tantrum" designed to ruin my grandmother's jubilee.

She only stopped laughing when the detective slammed a forensics report on the table.

"Your daughter didn't just die, Mrs. Fowler," the officer said, his voice cold. "She was buried alive by the elements. It took her three days to suffocate in that ravine."

My mother turned pale, stammering that she never got a call for help.

The detective' s eyes narrowed. "Oh, she called. Five times. Someone answered the last one, listened to her scream, and then deleted the log to cover it up."

The room went dead silent.

Slowly, my mother' s horrified gaze turned toward Carina, the "perfect" daughter, who was trembling violently in the corner.

My ghost watched from the shadows of the interrogation room as the realization finally hit her.

She hadn't just neglected me; she had raised the monster who left me to die.

Chapter 1

Eva Graham POV:

They came for me like they always did, dragging their expensive shoes through the grime of my forgotten life. My mother, Hilda, led the way, her disgust a palpable cloud around her designer coat. My father, Iain, followed, his usual placid expression tinged with forced annoyance. And then Carina and Kellan, their faces contorted in matching sneers. They stood at the bottom of the crumbling stairs, like royalty surveying a heap of trash.

"This is it?" Carina' s voice, sharp and high, sliced through the stale air. "I can't believe she actually lives in a place like this."

She clutched her trendy handbag closer, as if the very bricks of the building threatened to contaminate her.

Kellan, ever the echo, snorted. "Honestly, Eva always did have questionable taste. But this? It' s a health hazard."

My spectral form hovered above them. You called this my home. You made it my home.

Hilda sighed, a long, suffering sound that grated on my non-existent nerves. "Enough, children. We're here now. It's embarrassing enough without your dramatics."

She smoothed a wrinkle from her impeccable trousers. "Your grandmother insists Eva be at the jubilee. If she thinks for one second I haven't done everything to find her..."

I watched her, a bitter smile forming on my translucent lips. Your inheritance, Mother. That's what you're worried about.

"It's just like Eva to disappear right when she's needed," Hilda continued, her voice rising. "Always had to be different, had to cause trouble. As if we don't have enough on our plate."

Iain, the ever-passive enabler, cleared his throat. "Hilda, let's just get this over with. The sooner we find her, the sooner we can go home."

They began their ascent, each step a struggle for their unaccustomed feet. The stairs creaked under Iain' s weight, the paint peeling in protest. Hilda clutched the rusty handrail as if it were a venomous snake.

At my old apartment door, Iain knocked, a hesitant tap that sounded alien in this building. The door creaked open, revealing a man with kind eyes and paint-splattered jeans.

Iain' s face, usually so composed, flushed crimson. "Who are you? What are you doing in my daughter's apartment?"

His voice boomed, startling the man. Oh, now you care, Father? Now you' re protective?

Hilda pushed past Iain, her eyes darting past the man into the small living room. "Eva Graham! Get out here at once! What is the meaning of this? You told us you were living alone!"

The man blinked, bewildered. A round, pregnant woman emerged from behind him, her hand resting on her swollen belly.

"I think there's been a mistake," she said softly, her voice raspy. "Eva moved out two months ago. You must have the wrong address."

Hilda scoffed, pulling out her phone. "Impossible. This is the address she gave us. We sent her mail here."

The pregnant woman sighed, a tired sound. "Yes, well, she was having trouble paying the rent. We let her stay a bit longer, but then she just... left."

The man, her husband, stepped forward, his eyes narrowing at Hilda. "You call yourselves her parents? She was struggling, and you just sent mail? She talked about you, always hoping you' d come."

Hilda straightened, her face a mask of indignation. "Struggling? Nonsense. She' s just irresponsible. Always has been. Left us with unpaid bills, no doubt."

Just then, a portly woman with thinning hair appeared from a back room, a frown etched on her face. "Ah, the parents! You' re finally here. She owes me two months' rent, plus damages. And her things are still in storage, taking up space."

Hilda' s jaw dropped. "Eva owes you money? This is unbelievable! I knew she was trying to avoid us, but this is a new low."

I watched them, my heart, or what was left of it, aching. You always saw what you wanted to see, didn' t you, Mother?

The parents, a picture of bewildered privilege, followed the landlady to a damp, moldy storage unit downstairs. The air was thick with the smell of mildew and forgotten things. Boxes, some broken open, lay scattered. My boxes.

Iain pointed to a stack of art supplies, a half-finished canvas poking out. "These are Eva's," he conceded, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

Hilda wrinkled her nose, pulling her coat tighter. "Just junk. What is all this garbage, Eva?"

The landlady shook her head. "Those aren't garbage. She spent hours drawing those. Said they were important. She was always so talented, always sketching."

Hilda waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes, we know. Such a pity she couldn't channel that 'talent' into something productive, like paying her bills."

She pulled out her phone again, pinching her nostrils closed. She dialed my number, the one she' d always used, the one she'd blocked from her own mind until now. It rang, hollow and unanswered.

"Eva, if you get this," Hilda's voice was sharp, a recorded message of pure exasperation, "this is ridiculous. Your grandmother expects you at the gala. Stop this childish tantrum and call me back. We are not playing games. Get your affairs in order, and don't make me look bad."

She ended the call, a muscle twitching in her jaw. You think I' m ignoring you? You think I chose this?

I floated beside her, a phantom of her disdain. She usually received a string of texts from me, begging for attention, apologizing for slights I hadn' t committed. My silence now was definitely abnormal. She knew it. The pit in her stomach, the one she always tried to ignore, was growing.

"This is pointless," Hilda declared, turning away from the damp boxes, her voice echoing with frustration. "She' s just trying to get attention. Let's go home. When she's ready to face her responsibilities, she'll call."

The kind landlady stepped forward, her gentle face etched with worry. "Don't you care that she hasn't been heard from? She looked so tired, so thin, the last time I saw her. She said she felt like she was running on fumes."

Hilda laughed, a brittle, dismissive sound. "Eva? That girl's got the resilience of a cockroach. She' ll turn up eventually. She always does."

Later that evening, back in their opulent mansion, Hilda recounted the 'ordeal' to Gwendolyn, my grandmother, who sat ramrod straight in her armchair, her eyes like chips of ice.

"Honestly, Mother, the things Eva puts us through," Hilda began, her voice dripping with practiced grievance. "She disappeared, didn't pay her rent, and now she's ignoring my calls. It's just like her to cause a scene right before your jubilee."

My spectral form hovered nearby, a bitter, hollow laugh escaping my non-existent lungs. You hate me so much, Mother. Why? What did I ever do to deserve such loathing?

My mother's words were a familiar sting, but now, they were just empty echoes. I was beyond her reach, beyond her anger, beyond her ability to hurt me. Yet, a part of me, the part that still yearned for her love, still felt the familiar pull of despair.

"She always hated Carina, you know," Hilda continued, oblivious to the storm brewing in Gwendolyn's eyes. "Always so jealous of her. That's why she ran off, I'm sure. To spite us."

To spite you? No, Mother. I ran to find a place where I wasn't just a shadow, a disappointment. A place where I could breathe.

The house was warm, too warm. The air thick with the scent of lilies and my mother's lies. It felt like a gilded cage, one I was finally free from. But my ghost remained, tethered to this place, to this woman, by a bond I couldn't escape. A bond of unspoken questions, of unrequited love, and of a hatred I never understood.

And as my mother rambled on, my grandmother's knuckles whitened around her cane. The silence that followed Hilda's last words wasn't a peaceful one. It was the calm before a devastating reckoning.