My sister racked up $3 million in debt before dying in a sudden accident. At her funeral, my parents sobbed as they grabbed my hands. "We may be poor, but we aren't soulless. Death doesn't erase debts." "Clara, help us out here," Dad begged. "A soul that dies in debt can never rest!" Just like that, I handed over every penny I'd saved. Starting the next day, I worked three jobs—mornings, nights, weekends. I didn't stop. Not even the night I miscarried my second pregnancy. Blood still fresh between my legs, I dragged myself back to work. This went on for years. Until my daughter turned thirteen. I worked late one night. Couldn't pick her up from school. She was raped and murdered in an alley three blocks from home. My husband Marcus got the news and dropped dead from a heart attack. He wouldn't even look at me before he died. "Thirteen years," he gasped. "Thirteen years, and Lily and I combined still couldn't compete with your dead sister." "Clara, if there's a next life, I pray I never meet you again." The night we buried Lily, I paid off the final 30 grand. Guilt crushing my chest, I jumped from a high-rise. But just before I hit the ground, I saw them. My sister—alive, glowing, draped all over Marcus's shoulder. "Useless," she spat, checking her nails. "Took her ten years to scrape together three million. We had to wait this long just to be together openly." Marcus kissed her temple. "Forget it. At least she earned us the money. We wouldn't have this kind of life without it." "Mother and daughter are both dead now. Bad luck." Vivian wrinkled her nose. "Let's go. Tomorrow we're taking this cash straight to the Maldives." I died with my eyes wide open. When I opened them again, I was back at Vivian's funeral. "Vivian, sweetheart, how could you leave us so soon? You've ripped our hearts right out!" "How are we supposed to pay back all that debt you left behind?" That shrill, familiar wailing hit me like a slap. I hadn't even processed what was happening when Victor, the debt collector, strutted into the living room and slammed the loan contract onto the coffee table. "Save the tears," he said, cigarette dangling from his lips. "Your daughter owed me three million before she croaked. Now she's dead, so what happens to the money?" He was a mountain of a man—six-foot-something, built like a linebacker, with seven or eight muscle-bound goons flanked behind him. The entire room of relatives went dead silent. My brain jolted. I understood. I'd been reborn. Right back to the day of Vivian's funeral. Mom's face was streaked with tears, her graying hair hanging limp over her shoulders. She stared at the contract and sobbed like she couldn't breathe. "I know about this debt," she choked out. "Vivian told us—she wanted to buy us life insurance, but didn't have enough money. That's why she borrowed. Who knew it would spiral into this much..." Dad wrapped his arm around her shoulders. When he opened his mouth, tears poured down the deep grooves in his face. "Vivian was such a good girl. By third grade, she was already cooking for us. How could she just... leave like this?" He stared at the contract. His gaze hardened. "No matter what, this family doesn't dodge debts. She's gone, but the money still needs to be paid." "We'll pay it. Every cent." His bloodshot eyes turned and locked onto me in the crowd. "Clara, from now on, we'll handle this three million together. We'll get through this as a family, okay?" "If we don't pay, your sister's soul will wander lost forever." They collapsed into each other's arms, sobbing. Relatives swarmed around them, eyes glistening. "David's always been a man of his word!" "Don't worry—with Clara helping, you'll pay it off in no time." "Stop crying. You've still got one daughter left. You can't fall apart now." "Exactly. Vivian would be heartbroken seeing you like this." But I wasn't looking at them. My eyes were locked on Marcus, standing in the corner. His face was twisted in grief as he stared at the casket. Perfect performance. But I knew the truth. He and Vivian had been together for years. The three million? A con job they'd cooked up with my parents. Victor was just the enforcer they'd hired to play the heavy. I crouched down, pretending to tie my shoe, and followed Marcus's line of sight. The mahogany casket had several air holes drilled into the side. Through them, I could see fabric shifting slightly inside. Of course. Vivian wasn't dead at all. I stood up. Marcus immediately rushed over, concern painted all over his face. He took my hand firmly in his. "Clara, we'll shoulder your sister's debt together. I don't care how many years it takes. I'll be right beside you." In my past life, I'd believed him. Believed them all. I'd worked myself to the bone for ten years and never bought a single new outfit. But this time? I yanked my hand free and laughed—cold and sharp. "Why the hell should I pay off debts my sister racked up?"
The moment those words left my mouth, my parents' sobbing stopped on a dime. Every single person in the room stared at me like I'd grown a second head. Mom pulled herself out of Dad's arms. She pointed a shaking finger at me and exploded. "You ungrateful brat!" "Your sister died protecting you! And this is what you say?!" Dad's eyes were bloodshot. "That's your own sister! Her body isn't even cold yet, and you're already trying to wash your hands of this?" Marcus didn't say a word. He just glanced over at Victor. Victor's massive palm slammed down on the table like a gunshot. "Debts are debts! Pay up or I'll crack open that casket and drag her corpse through the streets!" He grinned—a predator's grin—and moved toward the casket, shoving it like he was about to pry it open. "Don't you dare—!" Dad lunged forward like a madman, blocking Victor with his entire body. Mom pounded on my chest, her fists wild and desperate, gasping for air between sobs. "You're a monster! Vivian loved you so much, and for a few dollars, you'll let them desecrate her body?" "We gave you everything growing up! Paid for your Ivy League tuition, put the house deed in your name, and this is how you repay us? You're a wolf in sheep's clothing!" The relatives couldn't take it anymore. "Clara, your parents spent so much on you. The least you can do is help them out." "She's already gone. What's the point of hoarding money now?" "Your sister went out of her way to drive you to work every day. Don't be so selfish!" They didn't know the truth. Vivian didn't "drive me to work." That car was mine—I bought it. She said she'd be my chauffeur, took the keys, and never gave them back. I even had to pay for gas. And the whole "sacrificed her education for me" story? A total lie. The truth? Vivian took the college entrance exam twice and scored under 200 both times. I got into an Ivy League school on a full ride. My parents had been bragging for years about their "smart eldest daughter." When the scores came out, they panicked. So they spun a new story: the family could only afford to send one kid to college, and Vivian "selflessly" gave up her spot for me. They threw me a graduation party, but handed Vivian all the gifts and money people had given me in cards. I had to work a summer job just to pay for my own textbooks. "Your sister doesn't have a degree. Life's harder for her out there. You really want to fight her over a few bucks?" "We've always been fair. You got the fancy education. Naturally, your sister gets more financial support." And that house "in my name"? They bought it for Vivian—using up my first-time homebuyer benefits in the process. They claimed they treated us equally. But every single decision had been rigged in Vivian's favor. No wonder she had the guts to fake her own death and scam me. "That car was mine to begin with! She never—" Crack. Mom's hand whipped across my face before I could finish. Then, still crying, she pulled out her phone and transferred $70,000 to Victor on the spot. "Take this seventy thousand for now! We're not deadbeats. No matter what, we pay our debts!" "Clara won't own up to it? Fine. We will!" At the exact same moment, my phone buzzed. Account balance: $0.00. My brain went white. I remembered—a few days ago, Mom said she didn't have money for online shopping and insisted I link my card to her account. That seventy thousand? That was every dollar I had saved. "That's MY money!" I shrieked, lunging forward to stop her. But Dad grabbed me by the arm and flung me backward. My forehead cracked hard against the lacquered edge of the casket. "You're obsessed! That money came from your mother's phone! We're paying your sister's debt with our money!" "You've always been a schemer. Now you're even claiming your parents' money as your own?" "You heartless leech! You cost us our jobs when you were born, and now you've killed Vivian! I wish I'd never had you!" My head throbbed. White noise filled my ears. But I heard it. A faint, muffled laugh coming from inside the casket. Vivian was laughing at me. Just like she always had. This family had never wanted me. I looked up, red-eyed, ready to blow the whole thing wide open—to scream that Vivian was faking it. But then my gaze landed on something. Dad's wrist. A leather bracelet engraved with Vivian's initials. I'd seen that design before. Marcus used to have one exactly like it. And now, as I stared, the two of them exchanged a look. Then both turned to stare at me. Boom. It hit me like thunder splitting fog. My parents had known all along. They were in on it from the start—co-conspirators with Marcus, bleeding me dry from every angle.
The memory of my daughter's broken body in that alley flashed through my mind. Then the image from my past life—Vivian and Marcus wrapped around each other after I jumped, laughing about the Maldives. Rage exploded behind my eyes. My throat made a grinding, animal sound. But the fury burned so hot it turned ice-cold. I understood them now. The Smith family and Marcus—greedy, ruthless, and desperate to keep up appearances. They wanted my money and to be hailed as saints. Exposing them outright would be too easy. No. I wanted them destroyed. I forced my hands to stop shaking and pulled out my phone. My thumb hovered over three numbers. Then I looked up at the casket. My voice came out soft, almost gentle. "How exactly did Vivian die? Which hospital? Do we have a death certificate?" "What are you implying?" Dad snapped back immediately, eyes flashing with suspicion. "It was your fault! You overslept and were late. She was driving you to work when the crash happened!" "She threw herself over you right before impact. Died protecting you till her last breath!" "Is that so?" I stared him down. "But I remember falling asleep out of nowhere that day. When I woke up, you were all crying. I never even got to see her body. Doesn't that seem strange?" The room of relatives froze. Then murmurs started. "Yeah, now that you mention it... I didn't see her either." "They brought her straight from the hospital into the casket." "Isn't that kind of rushed?" "Who buries someone the same day they die?" Marcus's expression darkened. His stare could've drilled holes through me. Dad raised his voice, scrambling. "That's because your sister's body was mangled! I didn't want to traumatize everyone!" "She's right there in the casket! How could we fake that?!" The relatives nodded along. "True. Who would joke about a dead body?" "I helped close the lid myself. There's definitely someone in there." "Clara, you're overthinking this." I smiled—slow, cold, sharp. "I never got to say goodbye properly to her." I turned toward the casket. "So right now—I'm going to see my dear sister one last time." I reached for the lid.
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