I was born highly sensitive. In my family, I was the fragile princess who couldn't be touched or spoken to without causing a scene. If there was a tiny thread at the bottom of the new socks my mom bought me, I would scream and cry, refusing to wear them no matter how much she begged. If my dad spoke just a little too loudly or frowned, I would instantly think he didn't love me anymore. My eyes would fill with tears, and I would sob in deep, dramatic agony. Even when we went to the amusement park with my little sister, Maya, I would just hide behind Mom, clutching her hem. No matter how hard Maya pulled my hand, I wouldn't budge. It all built up until Christmas Eve. Mom had cooked a huge, beautiful dinner. I whispered to her that I wanted steak instead of turkey. Mom, who had always walked on eggshells around my emotions, suddenly snapped. She slammed her new mug onto the floor, shattering it. "Do I owe you my life or something?!" The sudden, violent noise terrified me. My eyes welled up with tears. Mom walked over, poking her finger hard against my forehead, over and over. "Cry, cry, cry. That’s all you ever do! Is this whole table of food not good enough for you?" "Tell me, Christy! What did I ever do to deserve this?" A wave of pure terror washed over me. I wanted to tell Mom that I didn't want to cry either. I just couldn't control it. I didn't need the steak. I would be good. I would eat whatever she wanted. But before I could open my mouth, my tears poured down. My throat tightened so hard that I couldn't squeeze out a single word. Seeing me like this, Mom eventually sighed and gave in, like she always did. She grabbed Dad and Maya, telling me they were going to the grocery store to get my steak. Half an hour later, our neighbor, Samantha, banged on our door. She told me their car had collided with a semi-truck on the way to the store. All three of them died on the spot. It was my fault. I killed them.
"Christy, just stay inside. The police will be here soon to talk to you," Samantha said, patting my shoulder with a heavy, sympathetic sigh. "You really need to grow up and be stronger now." It turned out that when you reach the absolute peak of grief, you can't actually cry. I stood frozen in the hallway for a long time. I didn't even notice when Samantha left. I felt so suffocated. My heart was racing. I wanted to throw up. I ran into the bathroom, clutching the toilet, and gagged violently. But nothing came out. I touched my face. It was completely dry. I hadn't shed a single tear. Mom, look. I learned my lesson. I won't cry over every little thing anymore. Can you guys come back now? I promise I won't be so fragile. This had to be a nightmare. I stumbled back into the living room. The dinner Mom had just made was still sitting on the table. I had even covered it with foil to keep it warm for them. I knelt on the floor to pick up the sharp ceramic pieces of the mug Mom had broken. A jagged edge sliced deep into my finger. Blood quickly dripped onto the hardwood floor. I panicked, grabbing a towel to scrub it clean. Mom had just mopped yesterday. I couldn't leave her house dirty. We were supposed to have a perfect Christmas weekend together when they got back. How did things end up like this? It was you, Christy. It’s because you had to have that steak. That’s why they went out. You are a murderer. They are all dead. Why are you still here? I pushed open my bedroom door, crawled onto the bed, and wrapped myself tightly in my parents' jackets. I wanted to drown in their familiar scent. I remembered when I was little and too scared to sleep alone. Mom would always laugh, pull me into their bed, and tuck me right between her and Dad. If only I could go back to that time. I would never be a sensitive, difficult child again. I would be bright and outgoing, just like Maya. My body felt colder and colder. Before I lost consciousness, a few blurry thoughts drifted through my mind. Will they come to guide me to the afterlife? Or will they hate me forever? I already know I was wrong. I won't cry easily anymore. I will share all my toys with Maya. I will smile and say hi to all the neighbors. I will be good. I will let Maya have everything she wants. Just please don't leave me behind. I can change. I curled myself into a tight, tiny ball on my side, just like I used to do in Mom's belly.
When I opened my eyes again, the pain in my body was gone. I felt incredibly light. I saw my little self curled up in the nest of my parents' clothes. My face was paper-white. There was a horrific, jagged cut across my neck. Yet, there was a sweet, peaceful smile on my dead face. So, this is what death feels like. But where were Mom, Dad, and Maya? Why hadn't they come to get me? Did they still refuse to forgive me for killing them? Anxiety gripped me. Luckily, because I was light as air now, I could easily glide right out of the house. The car accident. Yes, maybe they were still stuck at the crash site. I floated down the snowy streets, following my memory. I passed a family laughing and ice-skating on a frozen pond. I instinctively tried to dodge them, but they ran right through my translucent body. Suddenly, I stopped. Through the fogged-up window of a cozy local diner, I saw them. Under the warm orange lights, Dad and Mom had huge, happy smiles on their faces. Maya sat between them, wearing a bright red bow in her hair, looking like a perfect little doll. Dad kept piling ribs and fries onto Maya’s and Mom’s plates, laughing as he took a sip of his beer. They looked like a normal, perfectly happy family of three celebrating the weekend. Because I couldn't stand the smell of grease and loud restaurant noises, we had never eaten out at a diner together. Dad had never had a beer in front of me, either. But I knew Maya loved ribs. Thank God. They were okay. I hadn't killed them. And it turned out that without me, they were actually a happy family. Relieved and content, I floated back home. My physical body was still lying on my parents' bed. Blood had splattered across the white walls. The clothes and sheets were soaked in deep crimson. Mom loved a clean house. And here I was, making such a horrible mess of her room. I had made Mom angry again. I instinctively tried to grab the blood-stained clothes to put them in the washing machine, but my hands swept through empty air. I stood there, frozen, not knowing what to do. After what felt like hours, the sound of keys jiggling came from the front door. Dad's hearty laughter echoed through the hall. "I haven't had a weekend this relaxing in years." Mom’s voice was filled with a rare, lighthearted joy. "I know. It feels like a massive weight has been lifted." Then came Maya’s sweet, childish voice. "Mom, can we go get ribs more often?" Mom gently stroked Maya’s hair. "Of course we can, sweetie." I rushed into the living room. Dad and Mom were busy putting the leftovers into the fridge. Maya was holding a small takeout box, carefully placing it on the coffee table. Their cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, but their faces were glowing with happiness. After cleaning up, the three of them sat on the couch to watch a comedy show. Dad suddenly spoke up, his voice dipping. "Megan... do you think we went too far this time?" The smile on Mom’s face stiffened. She tossed a popcorn kernel into her mouth. "Too far? How?" "We’ve been home for ten minutes and she hasn't even come out to say hello. She’s probably in there throwing another tantrum." "You always enable her, David. That’s why she acts out the second things don't go her way." "If we don't teach her a lesson now, who is going to cater to her fragile ego out in the real world?" I floated desperately in front of Mom, crying out to her. "Mom, I know I was wrong! I’m standing right here beside you!" "I’m not throwing a tantrum!" But no matter how loud I screamed or how wildly I waved my hands, there was an invisible wall between us. She couldn't hear or see me at all. My hands fell to my sides. I sat down quietly in the corner. Just then, Maya slid off the couch. She picked up the small takeout box, walked over to my bedroom door, and knocked gently. "Christy, I brought you the steak you wanted." Silence. There wasn't a sound from inside. "Christy, it’s Maya. I’m back!" Maya thought I was just pouting. She called out again in her sweetest, most playful voice. But after waiting a long time with no response, her lower lip trembled. "Christy is ignoring me." My heart ached for my sweet little sister. "I’m not ignoring you, Maya. I’m right here. I’m right next to you." Dad walked over, scooped Maya into his arms, and kissed her cheek. "It’s okay, Maya. Let’s get you to bed first. You can give Christy the steak tomorrow, okay?" Though slightly disappointed, Maya still flashed a bright smile. "Okay! Tomorrow, I’ll be the first one to say Happy Weekend to Christy!" "Happy Weekend, Maya," I whispered softly beside her. After putting Maya to bed, Dad walked back into the living room. "Christy hasn't come out once. Do you think she's okay?" "She’s definitely hiding under her covers crying," Mom sighed, rubbing her temples. "I don't know where she got this dramatic personality. Any little inconvenience and she turns the whole house upside down." "If she were even half as easygoing as Maya, I wouldn't be losing my mind." It was true. Maya was an angel. Even as a baby, she slept through the night. Unlike me. The second I was left alone, I would scream so hard I gasped for air. A few times, I had cried so violently that I fainted, scaring my parents half to death. As Maya got older, she was the one who looked after me. She would always give me her favorite toys, even if she wanted to play with them. Because I was terrified of other kids, she would always walk in front of me at the park, shielding me from everyone else. Maya was the best sister in the world. And Mom was right. Ever since I was born, I had been nothing but a burden to them. It would have been better if I had never existed. Then, Dad, Mom, and Maya could have been a perfectly happy family every single day—not just on the rare nights they lied to get away from me. Tears cascaded down my cheeks. I touched my face, realizing for the first time that ghosts could cry too. Dad, Mom, I’m so sorry. I caused you guys so much trouble. I knelt beside them, apologizing over and over, but they could no longer hear me.
When the TV show ended, Dad couldn't help himself. He picked up the takeout box and walked toward my room. "Christy hasn't eaten since noon. She must be starving." "Don't you dare go in there!" Mom snapped, grabbing his arm and snatching the box. She threw it straight into the trash can. "Every time she throws a fit, you run to comfort her." "Is she the only one allowed to have feelings? We work our fingers to the bone every single day, and we have to come home and walk on eggshells around our 'fragile princess'?" "So I yelled at her a little. So what? Parents always know what's best. If she weren't my daughter, I wouldn't even waste my breath on her." Mom’s sharp words echoed through the quiet house. I knew she was saying them loud enough for me to hear through the door. That familiar, suffocating anxiety gripped my chest again. Even though my heart had stopped beating, a profound sense of shame made my throat tight. I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry I was such a shameful daughter. I squatted helplessly next to the trash can. I thought that if I could just learn to control my emotions, maybe my parents wouldn't be so exhausted anymore. But looking at the steak slowly growing cold in the trash, a sharp pain pierced my soul. Why did my soul still hurt so badly? It’s okay... now that I’m gone, they will finally be happy. I curled up in the dark corner of the living room, watching them. It was late, but my parents didn't go to sleep. Mom’s voice broke the silence. "David... I just wanted her to learn. I just wanted her to be stronger." Dad sighed heavily, lighting a cigarette. "During the parent-teacher conference, Mr. Joel said Christy is too anxious. She can't even stand up to answer a question in class." "Her voice starts shaking before she can even get a word out." Dad wrapped his arms around Mom’s shoulders. "Christy is still young. The doctor said highly sensitive kids just experience the world differently. We shouldn't pressure her too much." "How can I not worry? I’m her mother!" Tears welled up in Mom’s eyes. "We won't be around forever. What is she going to do when we're gone?" "Is any company going to hire an employee who bursts into tears during a meeting?" "How is she going to survive the harsh reality of this world on her own?" Mom’s words were like sharp knives, tearing my heart to shreds. So... Mom had been worrying about my future all along. It was my own weakness that had made her so desperate. I’m sorry, Mom. I really, really wanted to be a normal kid. Looking at my mother trying so hard to be strong, I sobbed hysterically. I knelt before them, bowing my head to the floor over and over again. Dad, Mom, you don't have to worry about me anymore. Your fragile, broken little girl will never trouble you again.
"Maybe we should actually take her to a child psychologist," Dad suggested gently, rubbing his hands together. "I read online that with professional therapy, highly sensitive kids can learn to cope much better." Mom raised her head, her face stained with tears. "Therapy is three hundred dollars an hour, David. And Maya’s dance classes are coming up." "We don't have that kind of money." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And we can't keep asking Maya to make sacrifices for Christy." "Hey," Dad said, a soft, weary smile appearing on his face. "We don't sacrifice our kids' well-being. I can start driving for Uber or Doordash after work. That’ll bring in some extra cash." "But your sales job is already so exhausting..." Mom said, her heart aching as she looked at the dark circles under his eyes. "And I can take on some freelance bookkeeping clients," she added. "We’ll make it work," Dad said, pulling her close. "As long as our girls grow up healthy and happy, a little extra work is nothing." I threw myself into their embrace, crying. Even though I knew they couldn't feel me, I couldn't stop. "It’s okay. I’m dead now. You don't have to spend money on my therapy anymore." "With just Maya to take care of, you won't have to work yourselves to death." My parents fell asleep holding each other on the couch. I squeezed myself between them, greedily soaking in the fleeting warmth of their presence. The next morning, the sun shone brightly. Mom woke up early, calling out for Maya and me to get ready. We were supposed to visit Grandma and Grandpa today. "Christy, time to wake up and eat breakfast!" Mom knocked on my door. No response. "Are you still pouting?" Mom’s voice rose, but then she caught herself and softened her tone. "I’m sorry, okay? Mom shouldn't have yelled at you yesterday." The room remained dead silent. "Christy, enough is enough!" The lack of response pushed Mom over the edge. Her anger flared again. "How can you hold a grudge like this? I only said a few words to you!" "I’m your mother! Am I not even allowed to correct you?!" A faint, metallic scent of copper began to drift through the air. Losing her patience, Mom grabbed the doorknob and twisted it hard. "Christy, get your butt out of—" Her voice cut off instantly.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "NovelMaster" app ? search for "463142", and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster