Chapter 4

On the sixth day, the smell of death grew so strong that the entire building could smell it.

The neighbors couldn't stand it anymore. Someone finally called the police.

Two officers knocked on our door.

Mom opened it.

When she saw the police, she froze for a moment, then quickly put on a pitiful expression.

"Officers, what can I do for you?"

"We received a report about a very strong odor coming from your home. There's concern that something might be decomposing."

Mom's heart jumped, but her face remained calm.

She denied it flatly:

"No, nothing like that. The hurricane just brought in some water. It's a little musty, that's all."

One officer frowned.

"Is someone in your household missing?"

Mom's eyes flickered. She sighed and began her performance.

"Don't even get me started. My ungrateful daughter ran away from home."

She wiped at her completely dry eyes, her voice carrying just the right amount of grievance.

"Officers, you don't understand. My biological daughter has always been rebellious. This time she didn't like the mess and just left without a word. She's probably off with some boy!"

"Biological daughter"—she said those words quickly, almost urgently, like she'd let something slip.

I floated in the air, watching her coldly.

She was lying again.

But this time, she'd accidentally said something that was actually true.

The officers were skeptical and tried to enter the house for an inspection. Mom blocked them desperately.

"It's such a mess inside. I can't let you in! When she comes home, I'll make sure to discipline her properly!"

Eventually, the police left, fooled by her lies.

The moment they were gone, Jasmine crept out of her room, her face full of panic.

"Mom, the cat kept meowing just now. It says there's bad energy here. What if Aria... brought something unclean home?"

Jasmine's words played right into Mom's superstitions.

She believed in this stuff completely.

"You're right!" Mom slapped her thigh.

"That cursed girl must have picked up bad luck somewhere and brought it back here!"

And so, a grand "purification ritual" began.

Mom went out and bought loads of sage and incense, lighting them all over the house.

Thick smoke instantly filled every room, choking anyone who tried to open their eyes.

Jasmine "helpfully" went to my shabby closet and pulled out my only thick jacket.

Dad had brought it back for me one New Year. It was cheap, from a street vendor, but I'd treasured it.

Jasmine held up my jacket and said to Mom:

"Mom, I read that burning her belongings will sever the dead's attachment and scare the spirit away from coming home."

"Burn it! Burn it all!"

Without hesitation, Mom threw the jacket into the burning basin.

Flames licked at the fabric and quickly devoured it.

Just then, Dad's video call came through.

On the screen was his impatient face.

"How's everything at home? Why is there so much smoke?"

Mom was coughing from the thick smoke but forced a smile at the screen.

"Everything's fine. Just a little damp, so I'm burning some stuff."

Dad grunted, then asked casually:

"Where's Aria? Let me talk to her."

Mom glanced at Jasmine.

Jasmine immediately understood, lowering her head to look hurt and innocent.

Mom sighed and said into the phone:

"Your wonderful daughter? She's something else! Didn't like the mess here, so she ran off with some guy. It's been seven days and she hasn't come home. Her phone's off too!"

"Forget about her! Better if she dies out there!"

Dad went silent for a few seconds on the other end. Finally, he just said irritably, "Got it," and hung up.

From start to finish, he never asked another question.

In the swirling smoke, I watched this couple—one lying, one indifferent.

Together, they'd burned away the last trace of my existence.