Chapter 3: The Lie That Buried Me

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.