Mom’s Bias: She Chose My Sister Over Me

Moments before my death, my soul drifted toward my mother. My mother was right beside my sister, worry etched on her face. She prayed, "Leila, you'll be alright. You'll be alright. Please wake up."

"I can't believe Sheila didn't even keep an eye on her. She had one job!" My father was furious. "That heartless girl! I'm going to kill her!"

I watched the whole thing unfold, my heart—if souls had heart—filled with bitterness. No, my father didn't have to do anything. I was dead. Their apathy killed me.

The hospital's doctors surrounded Leila Greenhorn's bed. They made sure she was fine besides a few scratched bones, and an older doctor said carefully, "Are you sure we can ignore Sheila, ma'am? The car crash hit her hard, too."

My mother's concern turned into disgust. She roared, "What is she up to this time? Faking her death again? Does she even have any idea how much she's hurt her sister?"

I stared at my mother, and pain stabbed my cold, dead heart. I was her daughter, too, yet she didn't seem to care about me.

Then, my mother grabbed her phone and called me. A nurse held the phone closer to my ear. I was hoping for concern. A hint of worry, at least, but instead, all I got was an insult. "When are you going to get over here, Sheila? Apologize to your sister!"

And my heart went cold. I lost the last sliver of hope I had for my mother.

She never cared about me. I should've seen that coming. When we were taken to the hospital, I begged for her help, but all she had to say was, "This isn't the time to take any attention away from your sister! She almost had a bone fracture!"

She then led all the hospital's doctors to tend to my sister. Of course, she had no time for me. She had no love for me.

Even the nurse thought this was absurd. "Ma'am, she's going to die."

My mother, adamant that I was just messing around, sneered. "How much did that bastard pay you for this act? I can't believe that she can go this far."

And then, Leila woke up from her fake faint. Weakly, she said, "Dad, Mom, how's Sheila?"

My mother looked at her sweet little daughter, and the disgust on her face turned heavier. "Honestly, Sheila, grow up. Look at your sister. She's still worried about you even after you hurt her. You have three minutes. Either you get over here and apologize to your sister, or you're never seeing me again."

My mother hung up, her chest heaving from rage. My father was displeased. "Why do you want her here? She has hurt Leila enough."

Leila hid away her smug look and hung her head low. Then, she put on a mask of guilt and looked at our parents. "It's alright, you two. She's upset about me taking her chance to study abroad. I can understand why she's mad."

That was laughable. Even when I was dead, sister dearest still tried to drive the wedge between me and my parents deeper.

I didn't expect my folks to see through her act, of course. She was the perfect child in their eyes. She could do no wrong, while I was a problem child.

Naturally, they would never expect the car crash to be an orchestrated event, all thanks to their dear daughter.