1 The day I was born, the smiles on my parents’ faces froze the moment the nurse handed me to them. Floating just above my bald head, invisible to everyone else, was a line of numbers. 6570 days. Not one more, not one less. Exactly eighteen years. The nurse thought they were just nervous first-time parents. Only they knew the truth—it was my expiration date. While other families in the maternity ward celebrated new life, my parents were already staring at my end. For the next eighteen years, I was the most precious thing in our house. No matter how poor we were, the eggs were mine, the new clothes were mine, the meat was mine. My little brother could only watch with hungry eyes. “Let your sister have it,” my parents would always say. “She doesn’t have much time.” I understood my place from a young age. I never made a fuss, never threw a tantrum. I was just quietly waiting to die. On my eighteenth birthday, I blew out the candles and said a silent, heartfelt goodbye to the world. The next morning, my parents and my brother walked into my room, their eyes red and swollen, dressed in somber clothes. I rubbed my eyes and smiled at them. “Good morning.” The air in the room went still. The grief on their faces slowly morphed into shock, then stiffened into something cold and hard. … The silence stretched for a full ten seconds. “You… how are you…” My brother, Sammy, hid behind my mother, his voice trembling as if he’d seen a ghost. “I’m not dead,” I said. My father’s expression flickered. He forced a smile. “Not dead. That’s good, that’s good…” He nudged my mother. “Go on, make some breakfast.” Mom stared at me, then gave a numb nod. She walked to the door, then turned back, her eyes filled with a complicated emotion I couldn’t decipher. For the first time in my eighteen years, I felt that something was deeply wrong in our home. Breakfast was thin porridge and a side of pickles. As usual, Sammy placed the single boiled egg in front of my bowl. I reached for it. Smack. My mother slapped my hand, hard. A bright red mark bloomed on my skin instantly. “You’re a grown girl now, fighting with your brother over an egg! Have you no shame?” I pulled my hand back and just ate my porridge. After the meal, I scrambled to clear the table and wash the dishes. In the past, whenever I tried to help, Mom would gently stop me, a loving smile on her face. “You’re our little princess, you don’t need to do this.” This time, she just shot me a cold look and said nothing. After I washed the dishes, I forgot to wring out the dishcloth, leaving it damp on the edge of the sink. When my mother came in and saw it, her face twisted with rage. “Are you blind? You just leave the cloth like that? You want it to grow mold?” I froze, then quickly reached for the cloth. “I raised you for eighteen years!” she shrieked, following me. “Didn’t we give you the best of everything? The eggs, the meat, the new clothes! Did your brother ever get anything new?! All you know is how to take! You can’t even wash a few dishes properly…” “Mom, I did wash them. It’s just the cloth…” “Don’t you dare talk back to me! Who do you think you are?!” She snatched the cloth from my hand and threw it on the floor. “Look at you! Standing there with that miserable face! You’ve lived eighteen years and you can’t even wring out a dishcloth! What good are you?!” My father walked in then. He glanced at my mother’s contorted face, then at my stunned expression. He waved a dismissive hand, as if trying to end a pointless argument. “What’s all the shouting for? Just get on with your day!” Biting my lip, I asked softly, “Mom, Dad… are you like this because I didn’t die?” Their bodies went rigid. My father took a deep breath and managed a strained laugh. “We’re just… not used to it. We need some time… to adjust.” I watched them walk away, hearing them mutter to each other. “How can she just not die? What kind of mess is this?” I didn’t understand. Wasn’t me being alive a good thing? I looked out the window. The sun was the same as always. But when its light hit my skin, I suddenly felt very, very cold. 2 After that day, the atmosphere in the house changed completely. I was moved into the tiny, windowless utility room. Mom said Sammy was a growing boy and needed the sunnier room. She no longer asked me what I wanted to eat. She’d just set the table in silence, putting out two plates, then glance at me and reluctantly add a third. My father spoke even less. Sometimes he’d come home and see me sitting in the yard, and he’d just stop, turn around, and go in through the back door. Only Sammy would occasionally peek at me through the crack of the utility room door, his eyes filled with a strange curiosity, as if he were observing some kind of freak. Before, I was the treasure they had spent eighteen years doting on. Now, I was the scapegoat for everything that went wrong. The faucet was left dripping. My dad’s brow furrowed, his voice stripped of its old warmth. “Did you do this on purpose? Wasting water! Do you have any idea how much the bills are? You’re such a burden!” “Dad, I really didn’t…” “Don’t call me Dad!” he yelled, then turned and walked away. Sammy failed a test by one point. “It’s all your fault, wandering around the house, distracting your brother! We were supposed to have peace, and you ruined everything!” Dinner one night was a little undercooked. My mom slammed her fork down. “It’s because you’re still here! Cursing this house with bad luck! Even the stove is against me now!” I stood there, helpless, my eyes burning as tears streamed down my face. “I thought I was going to die, too,” I whispered. The breaking point came when I flipped a light switch, and the bulb flickered once before dying completely. My mother exploded. “You jinx! Ever since you passed eighteen, everything in this house has been breaking! You’re a curse!” “Eighteen years! Over six thousand days! Your father and I counted every single one of them while we raised you! We gave you everything, and Sammy got nothing! We prepared ourselves to say goodbye, we practiced it in our minds over and over again… but you…” She didn’t finish, but I understood. Their eighteen years of sacrifice, their careful nurturing of a life with a deadline—it had all become a sick joke. It wasn't that I was alive. It was that they had lost their investment. The sacrifices they made, the things they’d denied my brother, the suffering that was supposed to end with my death… it was all for nothing. I thought if I worked hard enough, if I swallowed my pain and tried to make up for my “mistake,” my parents would soften. They would remember how much they used to love me. I took over all the housework. Laundry, cooking, shopping, cleaning. I was more diligent than any maid, preparing varied meals and keeping the house spotless. But no matter what I did, I couldn't earn a single kind word or a smile from them. I grew thinner, my face gaunt and pale. The neighbors started to notice. They’d whisper amongst themselves. One of them, Mrs. Gable, tried to reason with my parents. “Don’t be so hard on Annie. She’s your daughter, after all.” But my mother, in front of everyone, spat back with disgust, “We wish we’d never had her. She’s a monster, a bad omen who ruins everything she touches! As long as she’s here, this family will never know peace!” My father stood beside her, nodding. “We raised her for eighteen years. We’ve done more than enough! Now she’s just a leech, dragging us all down!” Their words were like knives, twisting in my heart until I could barely breathe. Every little problem in the house became a reason to attack me, but it was what happened with my brother that was the final blow. 3 One day, it was just Sammy and me at home. I needed to use the bathroom, but the door to the utility room was stuck. It was locked from the outside. Panicked, I pounded on the door. “Sammy! Let me out!” No one answered. All I heard was the sound of crashing from the kitchen, followed by my brother’s sharp cry of pain. The door was finally yanked open by my mother. Her hand came with it, a slap so powerful it sent my head spinning. “You curse! I knew you’d cause trouble!” Her eyes were bloodshot, like a cornered animal. She collapsed to the floor, beating her thighs and wailing. “Why is my life so miserable? I raised a monster for a daughter! She’s ruined our lives!” Just then, my father came home. He saw Sammy on the floor, his leg bent at an unnatural angle. He saw my mother’s hysterical rage, and it was like a sickness that infected him, too. He grabbed me by the collar, dragged me up, and threw me onto my bed. “Annie Reed! You disaster! Why don’t you just die!” My voice was raw from crying as I tried to explain. “Mom, Dad, it wasn’t my fault! Sammy locked me in! He fell because he was trying to steal the candy from the top shelf…” They locked me in the room. No food, no water. I could hear the world outside. My mother cooking in the kitchen, the sound of my father’s footsteps when he came home from work, Sammy crying out that his leg hurt. No one mentioned me. I curled up on the cold mattress, my cheek throbbing and swollen. A fever took hold, my body shivering with cold even as it burned from within. My consciousness began to fade. I guess this is it, I thought. I’m really going to die this time. It’s better this way. Death would be a release. In my delirium, my eighteen years flashed before my eyes like a movie reel. I remembered my parents’ eyes, always filled with a strange mix of pity, helplessness, and sorrow. They looked at me like I was a fragile porcelain doll, one that could shatter at any moment. They never talked about my future. Our whole life was a countdown. When I was five, my brother stole a piece of meat from my plate. My mother caught him and beat him severely. “Why does she get to eat it and I can’t?” he sobbed. My mother didn’t answer. She just kept hitting him. Afterward, she hid in the kitchen and cried for a long time. Later, Sammy whispered to me, “Annie, are you going to die?” “Mom said you’re going to die. I don’t want you to die, Annie. You can have all my meat from now on.” The memory of their faces, twisted with a love born from impending loss, merged with the cold, hate-filled faces of the present. My head throbbed. Did they love me? Yes, they did. But their love had an expiration date. It was built on a countdown. It was a love meant for goodbyes. Eighteen years. The countdown ended, and so did the love. If I had died on schedule, their love would have been preserved in memory, forever gentle. Mom would be lovingly stroking my hair, telling me I was the prettiest princess in my new dress. Dad would be lifting me high, promising to show me the world. Sammy would be secretly saving his yogurt for me. Those memories felt so close, yet impossibly far. I managed to force my eyes open. I was still in the dark utility room. No light, nothing. I twitched my fingers, trying to feel for the letter under my pillow. A letter to my parents and brother. I’d written it a long time ago. A bitter smile touched my lips. I just hadn’t died when I was supposed to. There was also a small pink piggy bank. It didn't have much, but it was enough to buy Sammy a small toy. I fell asleep again. I hoped when they found me, they’d see these things and maybe they wouldn’t be so angry anymore. This time, my sleep was deep and dreamless. I could hear my own heartbeat. One beat, then another, then another. Then, slowly, slowly… it stopped. The utility room fell completely silent. No one knew. No one came. The little girl who was always waiting to die didn’t have to wait anymore. 4 The moment I left my body, I felt weightless. I floated in the air, looking down at my own stiff form on the bed. So, I thought, people really do have souls after they die. I passed through the wall, finally free from that cramped little room. Lunch was on the table. Three sets of plates and forks. My mother served the food, my father dished it out, and Sammy sat waiting. I took my usual seat, waiting for one of them to ask, “Where’s Annie?” But they didn’t. After they ate, Sammy limped toward the utility room. My spirit soared. Open the door, Sammy! I cried out silently. I won’t bother you anymore! But before his hand could touch the doorknob, my mother’s sharp voice cut through the air. “Sammy! What are you doing?! Get away from there! Does your leg not hurt anymore?!” He flinched and hurried away. That afternoon, our neighbor, Mrs. Gable, came over to borrow some salt. “Where’s Annie? I haven’t seen her for a couple of days.” My mother’s face tightened for a second before she smoothed it over. “She’s not feeling well. Resting in her room.” “Is it serious? I have some medicine…” I let out a bitter, silent laugh. No medicine can help me now, Mrs. Gable. “No, thank you!” my mother said, a little too quickly. “It’s nothing. She’ll be fine after a day or two.” Mrs. Gable didn’t press further. Another chance to be found, lost. After she left, my mother glanced towards the utility room several times, but she never walked over. That evening, my father came home. I spread my arms to block his path. Dad! Please, go check on me! I promise I’ll never make you angry again! The countdown is really over this time! But he walked right through me. “Is she still locked in?” he asked. Mom didn’t answer. “Open the door,” he said. I almost wept with joy. Was I finally going to be discovered? Would they be sad? Would they finally say I was a good daughter? Just as my mother started walking towards the utility room, the phone rang, shrill and urgent. My father answered it. His face went pale, and he swayed on his feet. My mother rushed to his side, steadying him. I sighed. So close. So close to being found. “Let’s go! Back to the old town!” he choked out. “The village called… they said Mom is fading fast!” They grabbed Sammy and rushed out, frantic. The door to my room remained closed. I was forgotten again. Even without a heartbeat, the news about my grandmother pierced me with pain. In all my eighteen years, she was the one who loved me most. Knowing I was on a timer, she’d had countless sleepless nights. I followed my parents back to my grandmother’s house to see her one last time. She lay on her bed, frail and skeletal. She gripped my father’s hand, her words a struggle. “Mark… where’s Annie? I don’t see her.” My father looked away, guilty. “She… she’s at home. She didn’t come…” Grandma’s eyes flew open. “You fool. What did you do?” Startled, my father confessed. “Annie misbehaved. I… I grounded her, wouldn’t let her eat…” Hearing this, my grandmother’s strength seemed to vanish. She mumbled something. “Mom? What did you say? I can’t hear you,” Dad said, leaning closer. “What about Annie? What do you mean she didn’t die?” He pressed his ear almost to her lips. I was too far away to hear what she whispered. But I saw my father’s body go rigid, as if struck by lightning. A look of pure, uncomprehending horror spread across his face. He forgot to even blink. “ANNIE!” His scream was so full of terror it startled me. His face was ashen. Ignoring my mother’s confused questions, he started running back towards our house, chanting, “It was a mistake… a mistake…” What was a mistake? CRASH! The utility room door was thrown open. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the scene inside. My father’s legs gave out, and he nearly collapsed. Floating above, I looked down at myself, curled on the bed. Shockingly thin, my cheek still bruised, my hair a tangled mess on the pillow. I was so quiet. Quieter than I had ever been in life. “What is it?” my mother panted, finally catching up. When she saw my small, stiff body, a terrified shriek tore from her throat. “Oh, God! Annie!” My father reached out a trembling hand to check for my breath, and his face crumbled with utter despair. “What happened? How did this happen?!” my mother screamed, shaking him as she collapsed to the floor. Dad just stood there, frozen, a roaring in his ears. But my grandmother’s faint words echoed like thunder. “Mom said…” He swallowed hard. “She said we were fated to be childless. She… she traded her remaining years of life for Annie… The countdown was hers. The death date was hers…”
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