1 For as long as I can remember, Mom and I played the dying game. The first time I found her lying still and breathless, I panicked and cried. But eventually, I learned it was just her way of teasing, and I stopped being scared. At the cemetery, a solemn silence hung over the freshly dug grave and waiting coffin. Everyone was crying—except me. I stared at the flag-draped casket and thought, She’s really committed this time. Even Dad’s crying for real. As the coffin lowered, choked sobs rose around us. I tugged Dad’s hand. “Is the game over? I need to wait for Mom at home.” He hugged me tightly, tears falling. “Janice, Mom’s not coming back.” I touched my dog tags and shook my head. “She promised she’d always come back.” No one believed me. They said I was sick. Soon after, Dad brought a woman home and said she was my new mother. But I knew Mom was alive—I’d seen her. Since no one believed me, I decided to find her myself. … Rain hammered against the black umbrellas, a dull, relentless drumming. The cemetery was a sea of solemn black. Suppressed sobs drifted from all directions, and every face was etched with grief, every eye red-rimmed. Dad’s shoulders seemed to have stooped, his body trembling as tears dripped from his chin. This round of the game was a big one. Even uncles I rarely saw were here. One of them, a soldier and a friend of my dad's, knelt down and placed Mom’s dog tags around my neck. “Janice, this is the only thing your mom left behind. You keep it safe.” Shovel after shovel of dirt fell, covering the flag. Everyone was lost in their sorrow. Except for me. I was waiting for Mom to leap out from behind a gravestone, laughing as she swept me into her arms, spinning me around. “Fooled you! My Janice is so brave!” We’d played this game so many times. She’d hidden under the bed, in the closet, once even inside an old trunk in the attic. And every single time, I would find her, and we’d collapse into a heap of laughter. “This round of hide-and-seek,” she’d always say, “Janice wins again!” So, this time would be no different. Even if it felt more formal, with more people playing along. It had to be part of the game, a new rule Mom made up to make it feel more real. After the mourners began to leave, I asked my dad, “Is the game over? I want to go home and wait for Mom.” He pulled me into a hug so tight it hurt. His voice was a raw, broken thing. “Janice, Mom isn't coming back.” I looked at the headstone, stubbornly refusing. “She’ll be back when the game is over.” “There is no game...” Dad’s arms tightened violently. “Your mother was killed in action! She’s dead! She is never, ever coming back!” I could barely breathe. I thought maybe he’d forgotten the rules, so I pushed at his shoulder to remind him. “But Dad, that was just Mom’s uniform they buried. It wasn’t her.” His crying stopped abruptly, as if his throat had been squeezed shut. His lips trembled, but no words came out. Just then, the soldier who gave me the dog tags pulled him aside. The rain was loud, but I strained my ears and caught his words. “She was too close to the blast. There… there wasn’t enough left to piece together.” “We only found the combat uniform. Barely stitched it back together.” “Sully, this is all we could do. I’m so sorry.” 2 I listened, stunned into silence. I knew what death was. Mom had told me before. “Death is when you become a star in the sky, Janice. You shine so bright, but Mommy can never touch you or hold you again.” So, death meant no more touching, no more hugs. Dad believed Mom was dead, that he could never hold her again. So, when he looked like he could barely stand, he pulled another woman into a tight embrace. He grieved for a month, and then the sorrow on his face began to fade. One day, the woman, Karen, moved into our house with her son, who was two years younger than me. “Janice, say hello to your new mom.” Dad took my hand, trying to lead me to her. I clamped my mouth shut, staring stubbornly at the floor as I shook my head. “I only have one mom. She’s just playing a very long game of hide-and-seek.” Karen looked awkward and quickly tried to smooth things over. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You can just call me Karen.” Dad took me to a psychiatrist, who said I had PTSD. I put the pills in my mouth in front of him, but as soon as he left, I spit them into the toilet. Grown-ups are the ones who need medicine, I thought, watching the water swirl. I’m not sick. You’re all just silly. Mom fooled every one of you. You have no idea how amazing she is. Eventually, Dad found out I wasn’t taking the pills. “Janice! Why aren’t you taking your medicine?!” His voice shook with anger. “Do you want to stay like this forever? Out of your mind?” I just stared at him in silence, my resolve unshaken. The standoff ended with him slamming my door and storming out. His patience wore thin with each failed attempt to “fix” me. His attention shifted more and more to Leo, Karen’s son. He’d listen to Leo talk about school, take him to the office, give him little projects. The succession plan that had once been centered on me quietly found a new target. I didn’t like Leo. He was always sneaking into my room and messing with my things. When I told Dad, he just said, “He’s just a little boy, Janice. You’re the big sister, you need to let him have his way sometimes.” One day, Leo broke the last model airplane Mom and I had built together. I exploded, screaming at him to get out of my house. Dad’s rebuke was harsher than I’d ever heard it. “Janice! How could you speak to your brother like that! Go to your room! No dinner for you tonight!” It was the first time he had ever punished me for someone else’s sake. I grew quieter, more withdrawn. I would spend hours alone in my room, tracing the metal of the dog tags around my neck, staring out the window. The disappointment in Dad’s eyes deepened as he looked at my mediocre report cards. The formal dinners he once took me to became events for Leo. The custom-made suits were now only ordered in his size. One night, Dad came home late. The moment the door opened, I heard his laughter mingling with Karen’s, and Leo’s proud voice. “Dad, everyone at the gala said I have your presence.” Dad ruffled Leo’s hair. “Of course you do. You’re my son. The company will be yours one day. You’re much more capable than your sister.” He said it just as he saw me sitting silently in the living room. A flash of embarrassment crossed his face. “Janice, you’re still up?” I nodded. “Getting some water.” “Dad, since I did so well tonight, can I have a reward?” Leo’s voice was bright. Dad’s attention snapped back to him, his eyes full of adoration. “Anything you want. You name it.” Leo pointed a finger straight at me. “I want that! The tag on her necklace!” 3 Dad’s smile froze on his face. I clutched the dog tags, taking a step back, my eyes wary. “Leo, that’s something very important to your sister,” Dad said, his tone hesitant. “How about I buy you the newest remote-control plane? Or that big Lego set?” “No! I want that one! That tag is cool!” Leo stomped his foot and lunged, trying to snatch it from my neck. “Get away from me!” I shoved him hard. Caught off guard, he stumbled backward and cracked his elbow on the corner of the coffee table. He immediately started wailing. Karen rushed to scoop him up. “Janice, he’s just a child! How could you push him like that?” Dad strode forward, his finger pointed at my face. “Janice! What is wrong with you? Apologize to your brother right now!” I stared back at him, defiant. “He is not to touch Mom’s things!” “Give it to me!” Dad roared, his anger finally boiling over. “Take off the dog tags and give them to your brother!” I stared at him in disbelief, my voice rising to a shriek. “Why should I? This is what Mom left for me! Have you forgotten her already?” “She wasn’t even gone before you had your arms around another woman! And now you want to give the only thing she left me to your precious new son?” “Shut your mouth!” he bellowed. A sharp, ringing slap cracked across my face. My cheek flared, hot and stinging. A flicker of regret crossed Dad’s eyes. He took a step toward me, reaching out. I recoiled, my gaze turning cold and distant, as if I were looking at a stranger. His fingers curled into a fist. “You live in a fantasy, Janice,” he said, his voice hard. “One day, you’re going to regret this.” I ran to my room and slammed the door. The phantom sting of the slap remained on his palm. He paced, uneasy. Karen put a hand on his shoulder. “If you’re worried, you should go check on her.” He shook his head. “It’s time she faced reality. She can’t live in the past, in some made-up world. Leave her be. A few days of this, and she’ll come around and apologize.” The next morning, I didn’t come out for breakfast. “Should I take some food to her room?” Karen asked. “No,” Dad said sternly. “She’s too willful. We can’t coddle her. She needs to learn there are consequences for disrespect.” On the third day, I still hadn’t appeared. Dad assumed I was still sulking and paid it no mind. When my name flashed on his phone during a meeting, he declined the call, deciding it would teach me a lesson. It wasn’t until the fourth day that Karen spoke up, her voice hesitant. “I don’t think there’s been any sound from Janice’s room. And her food is untouched.” Dad finally unlocked the door. The room was empty. “She probably ran off to a friend’s house. Didn’t even bother to tell us! She’s getting more and more out of control!” Dad fumed, calling my friends one by one, but learned nothing. The next moment, the school called. “Is this Janice Sullivan’s father? Janice hasn’t been in class for three days. Is everything alright at home?” The color drained from Dad’s face. Panic seized him. He hung up and immediately dialed my number. The phone rang for a long time before a flippant male voice answered. “Well, well. You finally remember you have a daughter? You’re a busy man, Mr. Sullivan. Couldn’t even be bothered to pick up the phone.” My father’s blood ran cold. His voice trembled. “Who is this? Where is my daughter?”
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