Cerita Pendek After Death Romance & Novel Hypocrisy Family Emotions

My sister and I are twins, and we both have kidney failure. After a long wait, we finally find two matching kidneys. The doctor is prepared to transplant one for me and one for her. However, she breaks down in tears in my fiancé's arms—she wants both kidneys for herself. When I object, my fiancé locks me up at home. He has my sister undergo surgery to have both kidneys transplanted. "You haven't been sick for as long as your sister has. She just wants to live like a normal person—how can you be so selfish? Can't you wait for the next matching kidney?" He doesn't know that I can't wait any longer, though. I'm going to die soon.

To shield my sister from a street thug's iron bar after she cut class, my right leg was shattered. The infection that followed left the doctors no choice but to amputate. From that day on, I spent ten years in a wheelchair. Consumed with guilt, my sister massaged my stump every single day. My parents wiped their reddened eyes and promised that everything they owned would go to me someday, to make up for what I had lost. Then my sister won the highest international ballet award, and the whole family wept with joy. Before the ceremony, she looked at my wheelchair. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. "This is the greatest moment of my life. If a cripple tags along, what will the press write about me? "Dad, Mom, just this once, let the three of us go together, looking our best. Please?" My parents caved in the end. Before they left, Mom was afraid I might fall, so she lashed me to the wheelchair with hemp rope. "Be good, Audrey. I put all the knives and scissors away. Don't move around. We'll bring you back egg tarts from Belem." I sat obediently in the middle of the living room and watched the front door close, then heard the lock turn from outside. That night, the old electric blanket in the bedroom short-circuited and caught fire. The flames burned their way from the bedroom into the living room. I could not break free of the ropes. I could not reach the door handle. I could not find a single thing sharp enough to cut myself loose. The fire licked up my one remaining leg. The pain was beyond anything I had ever known. I sobbed through the smoke, begging my family to save me. They hung up. On the television, my sister stood in the spotlight, her smile radiant and dazzling.

On the day of my wedding, my parents suddenly show up at my house with my fiancé, Yoseph Caldwell. They say they've decided the bride is going to change. "Your sister's terminally ill, and her only wish is to marry Yoseph. You're her younger sister, so be generous and help her out." Yoseph chimes in calmly, "Don't worry. It's just a ceremony. Once she passes, you and I can still get the marriage certificate." When I refuse, my parents tie me up. "We'll let you out once the wedding's over." But not long after they leave, an intruder breaks in and brutally murders me. By the time they finally remember me, all that's left is my rotting corpse.

"Ms. Clarke, you have successfully purchased a Final Memories recording package. We have arranged hidden cameras to record you anytime and anywhere. From this moment on, no matter where you go or what you do, everything will be secretly filmed until the day you pass away." The staff member handed the contract to Lila Clarke and asked her to confirm everything one last time. Without hesitation, she signed her name. The reason she ordered Final Memories was because she had been diagnosed with cancer. She had no more than one month left to live.

My husband Ezra Thorne had suddenly developed a mental illness, so I put every scheduled appearance on hold and spent three months with him at a private residential treatment center. After he fell ill, he flew into rages over the smallest things. The constant torment kept me awake night after night, yet I cared for him without complaint. That changed today, when he flew into another rage and said he hated the roof railing. He insisted I fix it. He shoved me out of the room, and I had no choice but to grab the toolbox and climb up to the roof. The rooftop was dangerously slippery. I crawled on my knees, inching forward as carefully as I could, but I still kept falling. After yet another fall, I grabbed the railing to pull myself up, only for it to give way beneath my hand. I plummeted straight off the roof. In the split second I fell, I caught a glimpse through the corridor window: Ezra and my sister, locked in an embrace, with my parents standing right beside them. Then I crashed into the bushes below and heard Ezra's voice drifting down from the window. "I've spent the past few days pretending to be crazy to make her pay for bullying you. Every opportunity she gave up is yours." I closed my eyes, too drained to call for help. So it had all been an elaborate performance staged to punish me. But what he didn't know was that my final curtain was about to fall for real.

I died on my birthday, but neither my parents nor my husband noticed. They were too busy pouring all their attention into planning my twin sister, Esme Shaw's, birthday party. While she was surrounded by people helping her pick out a gown, I was tied up and thrown into the basement. With what little strength I had left, I forced my broken fingers to press in the code—9395. It was a signal my husband, Edwin Grant, and I had once agreed on. It was a straightforward way to call for help in the event of danger. I never thought I would actually need it one day. But when I sent it, he didn't believe me. His reply was cold, "Claudia, just because I didn't take you shopping for a new dress, you've decided to put on a show? "You can still wear last year's gown. Stop making trouble. I'll see you at the party later." What he didn't know was that Esme had already shredded that gown into pieces. And what he couldn't imagine was that the moment after he hung up, I was already gone. So, when the celebration began, I never appeared. But when everyone saw the birthday gift I had prepared for Esme ahead of time, the entire room lost its mind.

A lethal neurotoxin had taken hold of my lungs. My time is running out. My mother, Sofia, was the most connected lawyer in Palermo, excelling in burying crimes and twisting the law. When my brother Vincent mowed me down and shattered my leg, she called in every favor to clear his record. My father, Tommaso, the most feared private doctor in Sicily, faked my medical files, branding me unstable and delusional, all to mold me into the obedient son they needed. Then there was Lina, only daughter of Don Vitali, my wife. She said, “We let him out for Vincent’s liver. What if he says no?” Dad’s voice went cold. “He has two choices: lie quietly on that operating table… or waste away in the sanatorium for what’s left of his life.” I pushed the parlor door open, steady and slow. My voice was flat. “I’ll do it.” Every one of them let out a breath they’d been holding, showering me with hollow words. They didn’t know there was no life left to threaten. I had twenty-four hours. By sunrise, I would be dead either way. Funny… now that I’m in the ground, why are they all crying?