Sold and Forgotten by My Own Family

It had been a month since I died.

My father had sent me—gift-wrapped in a slinky black dress and a forced smile—to charm the most dangerous man in the city. Not for love or family. For business, his god damn business.

For years, he’d been clawing his way up from small-time drug deals, desperate to expand beyond the East Coast. Adam Rossi, with one foot in New York and the other in Mexico, was his golden ticket.

And me? I was the bait.

Not because I was prettier than Gia—my younger sister had that whole wide-eyed, pouty-lipped thing down to an art.

No, it was because Gia was his favorite. Daddy’s precious doll. He’d never risk her with a man like Rossi. Too wild and unpredictable and lethal.

So he sent me. The forgettable daughter. The one they never talked about at dinner.

I’d tried to escape once. Got into NYU. Moved out. Cut ties.

And my reward? Dad cut me off. Said if I wouldn’t sell my soul for the family name, I wouldn’t see another cent of it either. I lived in a cramped, roach-infested shoebox on the edge of Brooklyn, scraping by on student loans and part-time work.

It was a shit life—but it was mine.

And then Dad came knocking again. Just a dinner, he said.

I thought it was dinner with the family. Except they never showed up.

A dinner turned into silence. Days passed. Then weeks.

My family only started to worry when my aunt—the one who actually cared about me—began pressing them to check in.

And now, here we were. Or rather, they were. I was dead. A ghost. Tethered to their shadows like some cruel joke. Forced to watch as they finally—finally—decided to visit the daughter they’d forgotten.

Gia wrinkled her perfect little nose as she stood outside my building. “How can anyone live here? Daddy, I just saw a mouse. A mouse.”

My father smiled indulgently, brushing a hand over her shoulder. The man could order executions without blinking, but heaven forbid Gia see a dirty apartment.

“Why don’t you wait outside with your mother, sweetheart,” he said smoothly. “I’ll go in.”

Of course. Wouldn’t want to soil his princess’s shoes.

But me? I could rot in this dump, no problem.

“I mean, seriously,” Gia said with a dramatic shudder, “How could Serena not return our calls? Making us come down to this hellhole. Ugh. There’s another mouse! Daddy, please, let’s just go.”

My father’s eyes iced over. “She better have sealed that deal. Otherwise, she can kiss the family goodbye.”

He marched up to my old door and pounded once, twice. “Serena! Are you in there? I swear to God, if you’re just ignoring us again—”

The door creaked open before he could finish.

A woman stood in the frame. No makeup or smile. A cigarette dangling from her lips. “Why the hell are you banging on my door?”

My father blinked. “Serena lives here?”

“Serena who?” she scoffed. “I just moved in. Whoever the fuck that is—she’s long gone. Try somewhere else.”

“I’m Enzo Barone,” my father said through clenched teeth. “Serena is my daughter. She said she lives here. And now she had gone missing over a month.”

The woman at the door raised a brow, then waved her hand casually. A man covered in tattoos appeared from the shadows of the hallway, his arms crossed like he was used to bad news.

“I met her once. She doesn’t live here anymore,” he said flatly. “Got kicked out over a month ago. Didn’t pay rent. Her stuff’s been tossed.”

He glanced over my father’s tailored suit and polished shoes. “Why’d you let your daughter live in a place like this?”

Of course, he didn’t know the truth.

As the conversation continued, the landlord himself shuffled downstairs, a thick set of keys jingling from his belt. “Serena Barone?” he asked, eyeing them. “She your kid? She owes me three months’ rent.”

The second he said rent, my father’s entire expression changed. He didn’t look concerned. He looked pissed and annoyed.

“Ungrateful little brat,” he muttered. “She probably stopped answering our calls so we’d come here and clean up her mess. Just like her.”

He pulled out his wallet with a theatrical sigh and paid the man.

The landlord brought out what little of my life remained: a laptop, some silver jewelry, a few books. Everything else had already hit the dumpster.

“This is her computer,” Gia chimed in, inspecting the dust on the screen.

My mother, Lucia—always poised, always soft-spoken—wrinkled her nose as if the air itself offended her.

The disappointment in her eyes was louder than any slap.

She pulled out her phone and recorded a voicemail, cold and clipped. “Serena, your father and I came by. We have your things. Call us back, or we’ll throw them out.”

That was it.

No are you safe or are you okay. Just we have your crap, now come fetch it.

I used to wonder when mother stopped loving me. Was it the moment she saw me as nothing but a burden to forbid she had actual happiness? Or was it when Marco was born—the son she always wanted?

Either way, the moment passed, and I vanished from her heart.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Gia said with a dramatic shiver. She clung to dad’s arm like a spoiled child in a horror movie. “This place is disgusting. I can’t believe people actually live here.”

The landlord, bless his heart, didn’t take that quietly.

“Well, aren’t you just a walking ball of class,” he said dryly.

“You—!” Gia sputtered, insulted.

He shrugged. “I heard y’all came here to find a girl who’s been missing for over a month, and I haven’t heard a single one of you ask if she might be hurt, or scared, or—God forbid—dead. So why bother coming at all?”

My father’s jaw ticked. “That’s none of your damn business. Call me if she comes back. You’ve been paid. That’s enough.”

And then they left.

I floated behind them, a silent echo of the daughter they buried long before they found my body.

Before they got into the car, I turned to look at the building one last time. Peeling paint. Flickering lights. The scent of smoke and old regret lingering in the stairwell.

It wasn’t much. But it had been mine.

And I had the sickening feeling… I’d never see it again.