What They Never Told Me

The next morning, the phone rang, and my mom snatched it up instantly. Holding the receiver, she stared at my dad with this weird look, nodding and shaking her head like she couldn't decide what emotion to land on.

Finally, she hung up and dropped to her knees, full-on sobbing.

"Natalie was on that plane. They said... she's gone. Not even a body was recovered...

"The airline said they're coming over later to take blood samples—to confirm if Natalie was really our daughter.

"Why would they need to test for that? Don't I know she's my daughter?"

Her voice cracked as she kept crying, shaking with grief.

My dad crouched beside her, helping her up. His face wasn't exactly sad, though. It was more... off. Like he was trying to hide something.

"They're coming. We can't stop them," he said, his tone careful. "Just be ready. When they get here, we cooperate. If they can find Natalie... that's what matters."

Mom slowly nodded, though her reluctance was plain. She turned to Chad. "When the airline people get here, you stay out of sight. Let them take blood from your dad and me. That'll be enough."

Chad rolled his eyes. "Natalie and I are real siblings. If anyone should be tested, it's me and Dad. Mom, you don't need to get involved."

Her face twisted with fury, and she raised her hand to slap him. Chad dodged just in time, but before things could escalate, a car horn blared outside.

Her whole demeanor shifted. She shot Chad a sharp warning glance.

"Go hide," she hissed, already walking briskly toward the door.

The airline reps were polite, all business, and Mom played along, nodding and cooperating. But her unease was obvious in the way she clasped her hands too tightly. Normally, she'd be making small talk like it was her superpower, but today, she kept her head down, quiet and tense.

"Mrs. Saun," one of the reps said, "we'll take you and your husband to the memorial site today. The test results will only take two or three hours, and we'll be able to confirm everything. Please pack your things and come with us."

Mom lifted her head, biting her lip like she was stalling for time, then glanced at my dad. "Are we leaving now?"

Dad nodded, but before he could get a word out, Chad popped out from his so-called hiding spot, strolling over with his trademark sleazy grin.

"My sister's dead. The airline must be paying a lot in compensation, right?"

Classic Chad. I let out this bitter laugh because, seriously? My body hadn't even been found yet, and the guy was already dreaming up ways to cash in.

Mom's lips twitched—like she was this close to agreeing with him—but she recovered fast, yanked Chad behind her, and started badgering Dad to pack.

"Take the family records!" Chad yelled after him.

The airline only wanted my parents to go, but no way was Chad leaving Peggy and Asher behind. Peggy climbed into the car like she was being sentenced to hard labor, muttering complaints the whole way.

By the time everyone crammed in, the car was packed tighter than a clown car. The airline reps just sat there, squished and helpless.

When they got to the memorial site, everyone let out a collective sigh of relief and practically scrambled out of the car.

Inside, the main hall was packed. The second the doors opened, the sound of wailing and cries hit like a wave.

Mom glanced at Dad, something sharp flickering in her eyes, but then joined in, mimicking the other grieving families.

Peggy hung back with Asher, glaring at Chad.

Chad stood near the front, craning his neck to see what was happening inside.

I stood there, watching the four of them with zero emotion.

Then I noticed something weird—bright red numbers floating above their heads.

At first, I thought my eyes were messing with me. I blinked hard, but nope, the numbers were still there, sharper now, hovering like neon signs.

Curious, I stepped closer. Beneath each number was this little line of text: The lower the regret value, the weaker the familial bond.

I glanced around the room. Everyone had numbers. The people crying the hardest had regret values between 90% and 100%.

My dad? His regret valu[e flickered between 50% and 60%. Even Chad and Peggy landed somewhere in the 30% to 40% range.

Then I looked at my mom.

Her regret value was a flat 0.