If I hadn't insisted on Marlon accompanying me, if I hadn't thrown a fit to come to such a remote place, he might've been rescued in time.

But because it was so isolated, we missed the critical window for help, and Marlon bled out.

I often thought about how helpless Marlon must have felt; he was just a kid.

Diane put all the blame on me, which meant I was never allowed to celebrate my birthday again.

I guess I was foolish, holding onto the hope that Diane might show me some kindness on my birthday, thinking that her not outright killing me was a blessing.

What a delusion that was!

As they packed up the food and headed out to the cemetery, I floated above.

I heard Diane softly murmur to the gravestone, her eyes lingering on Marlon's picture, "Marlon, your mom and dad are here to see you, with your favorite dishes."

Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes as Vincent gently patted her shoulder.

"You've been so kind to Marlon over the years," Vincent began, but Diane cut him off with a surge of emotion.

"If it weren't for her, Marlon would still be alive!" Diane's voice cracked. "Vincent, it's our fault, Ashley and mine, we've shamed the Keaton family."

Vincent hesitated, "Actually, Ashley..."

"She won't be coming back," Diane interrupted, wiping away her tears. "Vincent, if you find the house too quiet, maybe we should have another child."

Vincent remained silent, the weight of his sigh hanging in the air.

Hardly had they kicked me out when they began planning to replace me as if I had never existed. I thought as a spirit, I would be beyond pain, but the ache in my heart persisted.

I couldn't cry, but the wound bled silently, a testament to my fractured family.

After they returned home, they sorted through Marlon's belongings. Every year, they honored his memory this way, going through his things like a ritual.

As they rummaged through the boxes, they chatted softly to themselves.

"Look at this calligraphy Marlon did when he was six. All his teachers said he had a real gift."

"Marlon always got top grades. He never gave us any trouble."

"Even with all the pressure in eighth grade, he still helped out around the house."

"He passed his piano grade eight at just thirteen. Those long fingers of his were bound for greatness."

But they seemed to forget that I had learned everything Marlon did and even worked harder.