One year after I died

One year after I died, I attended my sister's wedding.

I watched as my sister, Ashley, and her fiancé, Josh, exchanged rings amidst the cheers and applause.

My stepdad had his arm around my mom, who was teary-eyed, whispering soothing words to her. Even my usually grumpy older brother, Ben, was sporting a rare smile.

They were still the happy, loving family I remembered, seemingly untouched by the tragedy of my death.

Me? I was just a ghost, a lost soul without a body to call home.

1

After the reception, Ashley and Josh headed to their new place, while I followed my mom and stepdad back to their house.

Ben was driving, and my mom and stepdad were in the back, Mom gushing about how well Ashley had done for herself, how perfect she and Josh were together.

Then, she chuckled, asking Ben when he was gonna bring home a nice girl for her to welcome into the family.

She squeezed my stepdad’s hand, adding that her kids were always so good at making her happy.

A hush fell over the car at her words.

I figured they were thinking about me.

Ben’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. He forced a smile and said, "Don't worry, Mom. When we get home, I'll call Sarah and see why she bailed on the wedding, especially since it was such a big day for Ashley."

My mom just sighed and nodded.

I studied their faces, looking for any sign of guilt, any flicker of remorse.

But there was nothing.

In the year since I disappeared, no one had wondered if something had happened to me. No one had bothered to reach out, to see where I was or what I was going through.

No one.

The only reason they were thinking of me today was out of politeness.

More than that, they were probably just annoyed that I was so inconsiderate for not keeping in touch.

Ben parked and went straight to his room, pulling out his phone to call me.

Again and again, but no one answered. He then opened up his chat app, fired off a message, demanding why I wasn't picking up, warning me that I’d never get rid of him.

Never get rid of him?

I looked at my translucent form, thinking maybe I already had.

My stepdad knocked on Ben’s door and asked if he'd reached me.

Ben shook his head.

My stepdad was silent for a moment. "Do you think she might be..."

"No," Ben snapped, stubbing out a cigarette. "She wouldn't dare."

I floated over to my mom, who was staring at a picture of me. It was a family portrait from when I was eight.

I sat in front with six-year-old Ashley. Behind us, eleven-year-old Ben had his arms around my mom and stepdad. Everyone was smiling.

I remember how excited I'd been that day. I'd gotten up early to make matching pigtails for Ashley and me.

My stepdad had kissed us both on the cheek, telling my mom how beautiful his two little princesses were.

I’ve wondered so many times, if I had just thrown a tantrum or found an excuse not to take that picture, would my life have been as bright and warm as the sunshine that day?

My stepdad rejoined Mom, shaking his head, and confi...