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.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 4
Eva Graham POV:
Penelope' s messages were a balm to my ghostly spirit, a gentle whisper of warmth in the cold expanse of my afterlife. She remembers me. She cares.
I remembered Penelope, her kind eyes, her gentle hand on my arm. When I was small, after a particularly harsh scolding from Hilda, Penelope would sneak me cookies and tell me I was special. She' d listen to my dreams of being an artist, nodding encouragingly when my mother would just scoff.
"You're a bright light, Eva," she'd say, her voice soft. "Don't let anyone dim it."
I knew now, in death, that those were kind lies, meant to soothe a lonely child. My mother had effectively extinguished that light.
But even as a ghost, I found myself still tethered to Hilda, unable to fully detach. A part of me, the part that had longed for her acceptance, still hovered, a silent observer of her life. I didn't want to watch her happy, oblivious to my suffering, but I couldn't leave.
Hilda picked up her phone, her fingers flying across the keyboard.
Hilda (8:15 AM): Penelope, darling, everything's fine. Eva is just being Eva. You know how she gets. Of course, she'll be at Mother's jubilee. Wouldn't miss it for the world.
Hilda (8:17 AM): You're still coming, aren't you? It won't be the same without you.
Penelope (8:20 AM): Wouldn't miss it, Hilda! Looking forward to seeing you all. And yes, I'll bring Eva's book. I know she wanted that special edition.
Hilda paused, her thumb hovering over the screen. The special edition? A faint memory stirred within her. I had shown her that book once, years ago. A rare art history text. "Look, Mom," I had said, my voice full of excitement, "Penelope said she might get me this for Christmas! Isn't it beautiful?" Hilda had barely glanced at it, already distracted by a call.
The next day, my absence remained a gaping wound in their carefully constructed reality. No calls, no texts, no sign of me. The silence was absolute.
Gwendolyn arrived early, her presence a crisp, cool breeze cutting through the heavy air of the house. I felt a surge of something akin to joy, a flicker of my old self. Grandma!
I had longed to see her, to feel her comforting embrace, to hear her familiar voice. My ghostly form yearned to reach out, but I was invisible, untouchable. I was trapped, bound by the unfinished business of my life, by the lingering shadow of my mother's indifference. But seeing Gwendolyn, even from this ethereal distance, brought a strange comfort, dulling the sharp edges of my grief.
Carina, ever the opportunist, rushed to Gwendolyn, her face plastered with a saccharine smile. "Grandma! So glad you're here! You look absolutely stunning!"
She embraced Gwendolyn, a practiced display of affection. I watched, remembering how Carina used to use me to get closer to Gwendolyn, fetching her tea, offering to read to her, always with a calculated sweetness.
Gwendolyn, though, was not easily fooled. She returned the hug politely, her eyes already scanning the room. "Where is Eva, Carina?" she asked, her voice firm.
Hilda entered the room, her smile tight. "Mother, you're early! Carina, why don't you get your grandmother some tea?"
Carina scurried off, the picture of a dutiful granddaughter.
Gwendolyn' s eyes, now devoid of any warmth, fixed on Hilda. "Where. Is. Eva?"
Hilda bristled. "Mother, really. Must we do this every time? She's probably just sulking somewhere. You know how she is."
"I know how you are, Hilda," Gwendolyn retorted, her voice icy. "You've always had a cruel streak, especially where Eva is concerned. My only regret is not taking her away from you sooner."
Hilda gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "Mother! How can you say that? I've been nothing but a devoted mother to all my children!"
"Devoted?" Gwendolyn spat the word out like a curse. "You fawn over Carina, spoil Kellan rotten, and treat Eva like dirt beneath your shoe! Don't deny it, Hilda. I have eyes."
Hilda's face flushed crimson. "Eva is manipulative, Mother! She twists things! She drives a wedge between us!"
I drove a wedge? You drove it, Mother. You hammered it in deeper with every dismissive glance, every cruel word.
I remembered the countless times I' d been punished for Carina's lies, for Kellan's pranks. Carina, especially, was a master of manipulation. A tearful accusation, a whispered lie, and I was always the scapegoat. I tried to explain, to defend myself, but my parents never listened. "Eva, stop making excuses! Why can't you be more like Carina?" they'd say, their words a dull thud against my already bruised spirit. I eventually stopped fighting. I accepted my role as the outsider, the black sheep. It was easier than trying to break through their impenetrable wall of bias.
"Enough!" Iain boomed, stepping between the two women. "This is Gwendolyn's birthday. Let's not ruin it."
Gwendolyn shot him a withering look, but her anger, for a moment, seemed to deflate. She tolerated Iain, I knew, because he was Hilda' s choice, a consequence of her own youthful rebellions. But she never truly accepted him, just as she never truly accepted Carina. She saw Carina for what she was: a calculating imposter.
Her eyes flickered to Carina, who had just returned with the tea tray, her smile still firmly in place. A flicker of contempt, quickly masked, crossed Gwendolyn's face.
"Where is Eva?" Gwendolyn asked again, her voice quieter now, but no less insistent. "I want to speak to my granddaughter." Her gaze was fixed on Hilda. The question was a demand, not an inquiry.