Rising From the Dead to Torment Me

“Why did you do this?”

I suppressed the trembling in my body and asked Vera with red-rimmed eyes.

After so many years, she was no longer gentle and sweet. Her gaze was cold and detached.

“Miles, it’s because you’ve never been very sensible.”

What exactly did it mean to be sensible?

My mother frowned at me as well.

“For all these years, we were just trying to teach you how to behave, to stop always trying to compete with your brother.

“Miles, they already have a child. Let go. You’ll meet someone better.”

That would never happen.

I pressed my lips together. My heart was aching as though it were being torn apart.

“I never took anything from Sean.” I choked out the last few words.

When I was a child, my parents always remembered what Sean liked. I was forced to like the same things as him so they would spare me a little attention.

I had to become like him just to earn the smallest bit of their care.

I never thought that just saying, ‘I want that too,’ would be seen as stealing in their eyes.

When we were teenagers, I was four inches taller than my younger brother.

Still, my mother only bought clothes for us in his size. No matter how many times I reminded her, she never remembered.

My sleeves and pant legs were always a couple of inches too short.

I was mocked for years because of that.

I should have realized it earlier. ‘Miles, they never loved you.’

Perhaps my expression was too pathetic.

The coldness Vera had built around herself wavered for a moment. She handed me a tissue.

“Miles, just focus on the future.”

I did not take it. Sean put on a guilty act beside her.

“Miles, I’m sorry. Vera and I haven’t registered our marriage yet. I’ll give her back to you.”

Suddenly, my mother raised her hand and slapped me.

Hot pain flared across my face.

I looked at her in disbelief. Her hand was still trembling, but her voice was cold.

“Miles, what are you even doing?! Vera is already pregnant. Do you want that child to be born a disgrace like you?”

I froze, and my heart stopped for a moment.

I was the child my mother had before marriage.

To her, I represented the shame of being pregnant out of wedlock.

To my father, I was the tool used to force him into marriage with my mother.

I had always known that. That was why I studied hard, never caused trouble, and tried to be perfect since I was young.

I thought if I did better, they might love me a little more.

It was only now that I understood nothing I did truly mattered.

Their wish was for me not to exist.

Well, it was about to come true.

Vera stepped closer. Her eyes carried a trace of pity, and she let out a soft sigh.

“Miles, we can still be friends. Sean and I will take good care of you.”

I jerked back a step, pulling away from her reach.

“Don’t touch me.”

My voice was hoarse and dry.

Six years.

For six whole years, I had never stopped feeling guilty for even a single day.

Every year on All Souls' Day and their death anniversary, I went to their graves again and again, apologizing and regretting what I did.

I always thought that if it were not for me and not for that surprise they were preparing, they would not have died.

However, it had all been a lie.

Even my parents had helped them deceive me, all for the sake of Sean’s happiness.

I looked at my mother and asked slowly, already knowing the answer, “The room you said I wasn’t allowed to enter because it would be too painful for you is actually connected directly to the house next door, isn’t it?”

My mother’s expression changed slightly. Her eyes flickered away, but she still nodded stiffly.

“So what if it is? We were doing this for you, so you could let go completely and live your life properly.”

“Live my life properly?”

I let out a cold laugh, though my voice was full of sorrow.

“You watched me go to their graves every year like an idiot. You watched me live in guilt and longing, while they were right next door, living happily together. Is that what you call doing something for me?”

“Miles, watch your words!”

My father finally came out of the study, his brows tightly furrowed, clearly impatient.

“They were in love. They only faked their deaths so you wouldn’t be hurt. They’ve already suffered enough over the years. What else do you want?”

In love?

They suffered?

Those two phrases pierced straight through my chest.

At that moment, a notification popped up on my phone. My cemetery reservation had been confirmed.

I took off the ring I had recovered years ago from a rescue operation and placed it on the table. Then, I said in a calm voice, “I’m done here.”