Chapter 3 No.3

My new existence was a strange imprisonment. I was a ghost, a whisper in the air, tethered to the very place my life had ended. I floated above my lab, a silent guardian of my own demise. The air was heavy with a chilling stillness, a silence that clung to the stone walls like a shroud.

Upstairs, the party was in full swing. Laughter, clinking glasses, the distant strains of classical music. It was a stark contrast to the grim tableau below. My spirit drifted through the ceiling, drawn by the familiar sounds, the familiar faces.

In the opulent living room, the Crane family radiated joy. Jetta, the golden child, was basking in the spotlight. Kyle, my father, usually so reserved, was surprisingly animated, a rare smile gracing his lips. He was holding a glass of champagne, his arm around Jetta's shoulder.

"To Jetta, my brilliant daughter!" he boomed, his voice filled with an unfamiliar warmth, a pride I had never heard directed at me. "The future of Crane Medical!"

Beverly, my mother, was already presenting Jetta with a velvet-wrapped gift. "A new surgical gown, darling," she cooed, her eyes shining with adoration. "The finest silk, embroidered with your initials. You'll look simply divine."

Jetta, ever the picture of humility, demurred. "Oh, Mother, it's too much. And Cheslie... where is she? I hope she's not upset. I truly didn't mean for my celebration to overshadow her award." She wrung her hands, her eyes wide and glistening, perfectly playing the part of the concerned sister.

Beverly patted her hand. "Don't you worry about that girl. You know how she is. Always overthinking. Besides, your new gown will look even better on display. Perhaps we can put it in Cheslie's room for now. It's so much larger, more space."

My spirit recoiled. My room? Already being repurposed?

"But, Mother," Jetta said, her voice laced with feigned concern, "won't Cheslie mind?"

"Nonsense!" Beverly waved a dismissive hand. "She's your older sister. It's her duty to share. Besides, she spends all her time in that dreary basement lab anyway. She barely uses her room."

Camden, my older brother, stepped forward, offering to carry Jetta's new gown up the stairs. "I'll take it, Jetta. You relax. It's your day." He shot Jetta a conspiratorial wink.

As they ascended the grand staircase, my spirit followed, a silent scream trapped within me. Tears, cold and phantom, welled in my spectral eyes, though they could never fall. I felt a profound, aching loneliness, an isolation that transcended death. To be so thoroughly erased, so swiftly replaced.

"Still, I worry about Cheslie," Jetta sighed, her voice carrying down from the landing. "She's so sensitive, so prone to dramatics. I hope she's not planning anything foolish, just to get attention." Her words, meant for the family's ears, were a carefully crafted performance.

For a brief, agonizing moment, the family's chatter ceased. Kyle cleared his throat. "She's probably just sulking, Jetta. You know how she gets when she doesn't get her way. Always trying to one-up everyone."

Beverly clicked her tongue. "Honestly, her 'award' is hardly comparable to your residency. A research award? It's so... academic. Not real medicine, like yours, darling." She smiled at Jetta, dismissing my life's work with a flick of her wrist. "Now, let's not let Cheslie's immaturity overshadow your moment. You've earned this, my sweet."

Jetta, with a slight, almost imperceptible smirk, said, "Well, at least she's good at making things complicated. Remember that time she spent months on that gene sequencing project? Took her forever." She chuckled, a light, tinkling sound. "But she did it. In her own slow, steady way." The barest hint of triumph flashed in her eyes. She almost slipped, revealing how much she knew about my work. She knew how much I had poured into it. And she mocked it.

I saw it all. The false concern, the subtle jabs, the barely concealed satisfaction. She always knew how to twist the knife, gently, so no one else would see the wound.

I remembered Jetta's own academic struggles. The tutors she'd had to hire in medical school, the late-night study sessions where she'd often ask me to explain complex concepts. She was charismatic, charming, a natural leader. But brilliant? Not in the way they imagined. The family, however, had always seen what they wanted to see in Jetta. They' d covered for her, made excuses, and celebrated her smallest victories as monumental achievements.

I remembered the time Jetta had "lost" her expensive fountain pen, only to "find" it in my desk drawer, leading to a week-long grounding and a lecture from Kyle about respecting others' property. The weight of his disappointment was a punishment far worse than any chore. I had yearned for him to choose me, just once. To believe me without question. But he never did.

And Hayden. My fiancé. His face, usually so warm and loving towards me, now held a different, tender gaze as he looked at Jetta. He watched her every move, listened to her every word, a quiet devotion in his eyes that felt like a betrayal. I had seen it for a while now, furtive glances, a certain warmth in his voice reserved only for her. But I had pushed it away, convinced myself it was just a natural bond within the family. Now, I knew. It was a deeper connection, one I was not a part of. The realization wasn't painful, not anymore. Just a dull, hollow thrum. I was numb.

A servant bustled in, carrying a silver platter laden with Jetta's favorite chocolate truffles. The family's attention shifted instantly. My name, and the brief, dismissive mention of my absence, vanished from their conversation like smoke. They were back to praising Jetta, to celebrating her, to showering her with the love and adoration I had craved my entire life.

Jetta, radiant and self-assured, recounted her "arduous journey" through residency, embellishing details, painting herself as a tireless hero. Kyle and Beverly nodded, their faces beaming with pride. Camden clapped, his eyes alight with admiration.

And I, Cheslie, their elder daughter, their sister, their fiancé, remained a silenced spectator, a ghost in my own home, forgotten before my body was even cold.