Died in the Coffin My Parents Prepared for Me

I died on the third day, my eyes wide open, the dried streaks of tears mingling with blood, creating a ghastly visage.

That night, my parents returned.

Noticing the silence, Dad grunted, "So, she gave up on her antics, thought playing dead would soften us? Four more days and Emily's spirit will return. Just keep quiet."

Mom added with a scowl, "Sarah, you made an unforgivable mistake. Spending seven days in that coffin is the least we can do. Think about Emily; she's gone for good while you just lie there comfortably. You should be thankful for that."

My spirit hovered, a bitter smile on my lips.

They called this a privilege, dying in a coffin.

They visited more frequently and were relieved by my silence.

Mom's demeanor softened. "Good you've seen sense, saves us all some trouble. We spoiled Emily because we were compensating for you. You bullied her, destroyed her things, and sabotaged her exams. She despaired because of you. Don't blame anyone but your own spiteful heart, always too cruel, even to your own sister."

Their words left me speechless.

Wasn't it Emily who had tormented me? She had turned the tables so skillfully, casting herself as the victim and me the villain.

I lowered my gaze, tears salty on my tongue, filling my mouth with bitterness.

They never believed me. In their eyes, it was always Emily.

Even when she plotted filthy rumors against me at school, rallied bullies against me, tried to sabotage my exams— I told my parents the truth, but Emily just had to shed a few tears, play the victim, and they turned on me.

They would lash out, scold me, beat me, and throw me out into the rain for the entire night.

They believed every word she said and dismissed mine as mere excuses.

I endured and kept pulling back, trying to fit into a family where I was perpetually the outsider.

Now, dead, I was finally free from the desperate hope for a shred of the affection that never came.