Chapter 2

Mom stormed back home, furious.

Dad was still playing video games. When he saw her come in, he didn't even turn around.

"Emma wasn't at the playground?"

"She's dead to me!"

"That little brat—when she gets back, I'm gonna beat her senseless!"

Dad's fingers on the keyboard didn't even pause.

"Don't say stuff like that."

"Besides, this is partly your fault. If you hadn't taken the dress you promised Emma and exchanged it for Lily's size, she wouldn't have run off in the first place."

That was all it took to set Mom off. She grabbed a pillow from the couch and hurled it at Dad.

"How is this my fault!"

"Lily needed that dress for her recital! Emma has plenty of dresses—would it kill her to give up one?"

"Well, Emma wasn't wrong when she said you play favorites!"

"Me? Play favorites? Lily's younger—what's wrong with asking her sister to be a little understanding? Isn't Emma supposed to act like a big sister? I spend tens of thousands on tutoring for Emma every year—doesn't that count for anything?"

"Act like a big sister? Is that why you've yelled at her so much she's too scared to come home?"

"She's got a guilty conscience! She's probably hiding somewhere having fun, just to make me mad!"

Mom and Dad went back and forth, their argument growing louder and louder.

Neither of them noticed the small figure crouched in the corner of the living room, hands pressed over her ears, face full of fear.

She was still wearing that dress—the one I'd never even gotten to wear before it was exchanged at the store for a smaller size.

I floated over and curled up across from her, hugging my knees, staring at the dress she was wearing.

Blue, covered in rhinestones, so pretty and sparkly.

Like the dress Cinderella wore in the cartoons.

Dad had promised me—if I passed my test, he'd buy it for me.

I studied so hard for so long, and finally, I passed.

But the day the dress arrived, my sister cried and begged to wear a princess dress for her kindergarten talent show.

Without a second thought, Mom took the dress and the receipt back to the store and exchanged it for the smallest size.

"Emma, you're the big sister. Let your little sister have this one."

"Next time—next time, Mommy will buy you an even better one."

There was no next time.

I looked down at my own dress—washed so many times it had faded to a grayish white.

In the bottom right corner, there were a few drops of ink my desk mate had flicked onto it during calligraphy class. No matter how many times I washed it, it never came out.

Lily's expression grew more and more dazed.

Every time she heard my name, her body would flinch.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore and burst into hysterical sobs.

"Emma! Emma!"

"Emma run!"

The heated argument between Mom and Dad stopped abruptly.

Mom hurried over and pulled Lily into her arms, gently patting her back.

"Baby, I'm sorry. Mommy was wrong. Did we scare you?"

"It's all your sister's fault for running off. When she comes back, we'll yell at her together!"

Dad walked over too. He sighed, his voice weary.

"Okay, okay, stop crying. Daddy will buy you a doll tomorrow, how about that?"

But Lily kept sobbing hysterically, calling out "Emma" over and over again.

That night, Lily developed a high fever.

Mom held Lily's hand, her face exhausted, stroking it over and over.

In the silence, she seemed to be talking to herself, her voice hoarse and bitter.

"Your sister has been nothing but trouble since the day she was born. Now she won't even come home, and she's still finding ways to torment us..."

"If she hadn't been so stubborn and run off, you wouldn't have gotten so scared. You wouldn't have gotten sick..."

"If she had any conscience at all, she'd come back and apologize on her own..."

I stood on the other side of the hospital bed, watching Mom's tired, tender profile.

When she looked at Lily, her eyes were filled with such genuine worry and love.

I had dreamed of that kind of tenderness countless times—if only I could have it just once.

Now I was seeing it with my own eyes, but in this way.

A sharp ache spread through my chest.

So even ghosts could feel pain.

I slowly reached out, wanting to touch Mom's messy hair, wanting to tell her: Stop blaming me. Emma's never coming back.

My fingertip passed through her again, leaving nothing behind.

Just like my death.

Apart from making my sister sick and giving Mom another reason to complain about me—

I left nothing behind.