Too Late To Love Me

Valarie's POV

The lid clicked shut, and that single sound changed everything.

Just a moment ago, I had been so happy. My oldest brother, Osborne, had built me a fully transparent glass coffin with his own hands. My second brother, Gerald, had sewn burial clothes tailored perfectly to my size. My third brother, Caspian, had filled the bottom of the coffin with imported flowers, arranging them so carefully that I almost hadn't wanted to lie down and crush them. All of this, on Christmas Eve, because Elle, the adopted daughter of the Fernandez family, wanted to play a prank.

She wanted me to sleep inside the coffin for one whole night.

"As long as you get in there and prove you can take a joke, we'll officially accept you," Elle had said, smiling so sweetly at me, the kind of smile I had been dreaming about since the day I first came to this house. "We'll treat you like real family."

Real family.Those two words meant more to me than anything else in the world. I had spent so long feeling like a guest in my own home, like a shadow standing just outside a warm room, watching everyone else laugh without me. So when Elle said that, I didn't hesitate for even a second. I put on the burial clothes Gerald had made, feeling the soft fabric against my skin, and climbed into the glass box. I lay down as still as I could, arranging my hands over my chest the way Caspian told me to, my heart pounding with something that almost felt like hope. I remember thinking, after tonight, I'll finally belong.

But the moment the lid locked shut above me, I knew something was wrong.

There was not a single air hole.

I told myself I was imagining it at first, that surely someone had drilled holes somewhere I just couldn't see. But the air around me grew thick and stale within minutes, and my chest began to tighten in a way that had nothing to do with nerves. I pressed my palms flat against the glass and pushed, gently at first, then harder, then frantically, pounding on the glass and begging with my eyes for someone, anyone, to notice that this was not part of the joke anymore.

Elle stood outside with her phone raised, laughing as she live streamed the whole thing to her followers.

"Guys, look at my sister!" she said, giggling into the camera, tilting it so the light caught my face through the glass. "Her acting is so good! Her face is turning purple from holding her breath. She's making it look so real!"

I wanted to scream at her. I'm not holding my breath, Elle. I can't breathe. But no sound came out except a weak, muffled thud of my palm against the glass.

Osborne looked at me through the coffin with disgust written all over his face, the same look he always gave me when he thought I was being dramatic.

"Valarie, knock it off," he said, crossing his arms. "You just got in there, and now you want out already? Stop embarrassing yourself."

Please, Osborne. Look at my face. Look at my eyes. This isn't a joke. But he had already turned slightly away, already dismissing me the way he always did.

The suffocating feeling grew worse with every second. My lungs felt like they were going to burst inside my chest, like something was sitting on top of me, crushing the air out bit by bit. Soon I couldn't even move my mouth properly to beg anymore. My vision started to blur at the edges.

Gerald looked at me and let out a cold laugh. "You really will do anything for attention, won't you?"

Caspian leaned close to the glass, clapping his hands like he was watching a street performer. "She's such a drama queen."

Then I heard Osborne speaking to the people watching on Elle's live stream, his voice calm and reasonable, like he was explaining something everyone already understood.

"She's always like this," he said. "She can't take a joke. She loves playing the victim. She just can't stand seeing Elle happy. She has to ruin the mood every single time."

I stared at them through the glass, and despair crawled through my whole body like ice water filling my veins. I wasn't acting. I was really dying, right here, in the coffin my own brothers had built for me with their own hands, surrounded by flowers meant to look pretty instead of air meant to keep me alive.

I used the last bit of strength I had left in my body. My ten fingers, already raw and bleeding from scratching desperately at the glass, slammed against the coffin wall one final time.

Gerald leaned in closer from the other side. When he saw the bloody marks smeared across the glass, his eyebrows pulled together in something that almost looked like real worry.

"Valarie, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice suddenly serious. "If you're really feeling sick, I'll let you out right now."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key.

My heart leapt so hard it hurt. Someone believes me. Someone is finally going to save me.

But Elle rushed over and grabbed his arm before he could move another inch.

"Gerald, come on!" she said, laughing brightly. "She's messing with you."

She pointed at the blood smeared across the glass and laughed so hard her whole body shook with it.

"Look at it! That blood is so fake. She even prepared fake blood packs for this prank. Wow, she really went all out for Christmas. She's so committed!"

Gerald froze for a second, staring at the streaks of red on the glass. Then, slowly, he let go of the key and burst out laughing along with her.

"Valarie, seriously?" he said, shaking his head at me like I was a child who had been caught doing something silly. "You even brought fake blood for a Christmas prank?"

No. No, no, no.

My mouth opened as wide as it could. My whole body shook violently against the glass. Help. I can't breathe.

I stared straight into Gerald's eyes and mouthed the words as desperately as I could, praying, begging silently with everything left inside me, that he would understand just how much pain I was really in, and see the truth trapped behind the glass with me.

But Gerald only gave me a thumbs up.

He looked completely relaxed, and at ease, like we were playing a party game and I had simply won a round.

"The color of this blood is actually insane," he said, admiring the streaks on the glass like it was a piece of art I had painted just for him. "You really worked hard to fit in with us, huh?" He tilted his head, studying it a little more closely. "But the technique's still kind of rough around the edges."

He tapped the glass gently, almost affectionately, right above the spot where my heart was pounding out its last few frantic beats.

"Next time," he said, smiling down at me through the glass, "I'll teach you what real, movie-level special effects look like."