Her Neglect, My Undying Haunted Soul

I was the biological daughter, yet my mother looked at me with disgust while worshipping my adopted sister, Carina.

When I vanished for two months, my mother laughed it off as a "tantrum" designed to ruin my grandmother's jubilee.

She only stopped laughing when the detective slammed a forensics report on the table.

"Your daughter didn't just die, Mrs. Fowler," the officer said, his voice cold. "She was buried alive by the elements. It took her three days to suffocate in that ravine."

My mother turned pale, stammering that she never got a call for help.

The detective' s eyes narrowed. "Oh, she called. Five times. Someone answered the last one, listened to her scream, and then deleted the log to cover it up."

The room went dead silent.

Slowly, my mother' s horrified gaze turned toward Carina, the "perfect" daughter, who was trembling violently in the corner.

My ghost watched from the shadows of the interrogation room as the realization finally hit her.

She hadn't just neglected me; she had raised the monster who left me to die.

Chapter 1

Eva Graham POV:

They came for me like they always did, dragging their expensive shoes through the grime of my forgotten life. My mother, Hilda, led the way, her disgust a palpable cloud around her designer coat. My father, Iain, followed, his usual placid expression tinged with forced annoyance. And then Carina and Kellan, their faces contorted in matching sneers. They stood at the bottom of the crumbling stairs, like royalty surveying a heap of trash.

"This is it?" Carina' s voice, sharp and high, sliced through the stale air. "I can't believe she actually lives in a place like this."

She clutched her trendy handbag closer, as if the very bricks of the building threatened to contaminate her.

Kellan, ever the echo, snorted. "Honestly, Eva always did have questionable taste. But this? It' s a health hazard."

My spectral form hovered above them. You called this my home. You made it my home.

Hilda sighed, a long, suffering sound that grated on my non-existent nerves. "Enough, children. We're here now. It's embarrassing enough without your dramatics."

She smoothed a wrinkle from her impeccable trousers. "Your grandmother insists Eva be at the jubilee. If she thinks for one second I haven't done everything to find her..."

I watched her, a bitter smile forming on my translucent lips. Your inheritance, Mother. That's what you're worried about.

"It's just like Eva to disappear right when she's needed," Hilda continued, her voice rising. "Always had to be different, had to cause trouble. As if we don't have enough on our plate."

Iain, the ever-passive enabler, cleared his throat. "Hilda, let's just get this over with. The sooner we find her, the sooner we can go home."

They began their ascent, each step a struggle for their unaccustomed feet. The stairs creaked under Iain' s weight, the paint peeling in protest. Hilda clutched the rusty handrail as if it were a venomous snake.

At my old apartment door, Iain knocked, a hesitant tap that sounded alien in this building. The door creaked open, revealing a man with kind eyes and paint-splattered jeans.

Iain' s face, usually so composed, flushed crimson. "Who are you? What are you doing in my daughter's apartment?"

His voice boomed, startling the man. Oh, now you care, Father? Now you' re protective?

Hilda pushed past Iain, her eyes darting past the man into the small living room. "Eva Graham! Get out here at once! What is the meaning of this? You told us you were living alone!"

The man blinked, bewildered. A round, pregnant woman emerged from behind him, her hand resting on her swollen belly.

"I think there's been a mistake," she said softly, her voice raspy. "Eva moved out two months ago. You must have the wrong address."

Hilda scoffed, pulling out her phone. "Impossible. This is the address she gave us. We sent her mail here."

The pregnant woman sighed, a tired sound. "Yes, well, she was having trouble paying the rent. We let her stay a bit longer, but then she just... left."

The man, her husband, stepped forward, his eyes narrowing at Hilda. "You call yourselves her parents? She was struggling, and you just sent mail? She talked about you, always hoping you' d come."

Hilda straightened, her face a mask of indignation. "Struggling? Nonsense. She' s just irresponsible. Always has been. Left us with unpaid bills, no doubt."

Just then, a portly woman with thinning hair appeared from a back room, a frown etched on her face. "Ah, the parents! You' re finally here. She owes me two months' rent, plus damages. And her things are still in storage, taking up space."

Hilda' s jaw dropped. "Eva owes you money? This is unbelievable! I knew she was trying to avoid us, but this is a new low."

I watched them, my heart, or what was left of it, aching. You always saw what you wanted to see, didn' t you, Mother?

The parents, a picture of bewildered privilege, followed the landlady to a damp, moldy storage unit downstairs. The air was thick with the smell of mildew and forgotten things. Boxes, some broken open, lay scattered. My boxes.

Iain pointed to a stack of art supplies, a half-finished canvas poking out. "These are Eva's," he conceded, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

Hilda wrinkled her nose, pulling her coat tighter. "Just junk. What is all this garbage, Eva?"

The landlady shook her head. "Those aren't garbage. She spent hours drawing those. Said they were important. She was always so talented, always sketching."

Hilda waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes, we know. Such a pity she couldn't channel that 'talent' into something productive, like paying her bills."

She pulled out her phone again, pinching her nostrils closed. She dialed my number, the one she' d always used, the one she'd blocked from her own mind until now. It rang, hollow and unanswered.

"Eva, if you get this," Hilda's voice was sharp, a recorded message of pure exasperation, "this is ridiculous. Your grandmother expects you at the gala. Stop this childish tantrum and call me back. We are not playing games. Get your affairs in order, and don't make me look bad."

She ended the call, a muscle twitching in her jaw. You think I' m ignoring you? You think I chose this?

I floated beside her, a phantom of her disdain. She usually received a string of texts from me, begging for attention, apologizing for slights I hadn' t committed. My silence now was definitely abnormal. She knew it. The pit in her stomach, the one she always tried to ignore, was growing.

"This is pointless," Hilda declared, turning away from the damp boxes, her voice echoing with frustration. "She' s just trying to get attention. Let's go home. When she's ready to face her responsibilities, she'll call."

The kind landlady stepped forward, her gentle face etched with worry. "Don't you care that she hasn't been heard from? She looked so tired, so thin, the last time I saw her. She said she felt like she was running on fumes."

Hilda laughed, a brittle, dismissive sound. "Eva? That girl's got the resilience of a cockroach. She' ll turn up eventually. She always does."

Later that evening, back in their opulent mansion, Hilda recounted the 'ordeal' to Gwendolyn, my grandmother, who sat ramrod straight in her armchair, her eyes like chips of ice.

"Honestly, Mother, the things Eva puts us through," Hilda began, her voice dripping with practiced grievance. "She disappeared, didn't pay her rent, and now she's ignoring my calls. It's just like her to cause a scene right before your jubilee."

My spectral form hovered nearby, a bitter, hollow laugh escaping my non-existent lungs. You hate me so much, Mother. Why? What did I ever do to deserve such loathing?

My mother's words were a familiar sting, but now, they were just empty echoes. I was beyond her reach, beyond her anger, beyond her ability to hurt me. Yet, a part of me, the part that still yearned for her love, still felt the familiar pull of despair.

"She always hated Carina, you know," Hilda continued, oblivious to the storm brewing in Gwendolyn's eyes. "Always so jealous of her. That's why she ran off, I'm sure. To spite us."

To spite you? No, Mother. I ran to find a place where I wasn't just a shadow, a disappointment. A place where I could breathe.

The house was warm, too warm. The air thick with the scent of lilies and my mother's lies. It felt like a gilded cage, one I was finally free from. But my ghost remained, tethered to this place, to this woman, by a bond I couldn't escape. A bond of unspoken questions, of unrequited love, and of a hatred I never understood.

And as my mother rambled on, my grandmother's knuckles whitened around her cane. The silence that followed Hilda's last words wasn't a peaceful one. It was the calm before a devastating reckoning.

Eva Graham POV:

My grandmother' s breath hitched, a sharp, gasping sound that made Hilda pause. The air in the opulent living room, usually so stifling, crackled with an unfamiliar tension. I watched from my unseen perch, a knot forming where my stomach used to be.

"How dare you?" Gwendolyn' s voice, usually a delicate whisper, was a whip-crack. "How dare you speak of your daughter that way? Have you no heart, Hilda? No motherly instinct?"

Hilda recoiled, her perfectly made-up face registering shock. "Mother, don't be dramatic. Eva is fine. She's just being difficult, as always."

"Difficult?" Gwendolyn slammed her cane against the polished floor. The sound echoed through the room. "She is your child, Hilda! And you speak of her as if she were a troublesome pet. Do you hear yourself? She's been gone for months, and you dismiss it as a 'tantrum'?"

I closed my eyes, if ghosts could close their eyes. She does care. Someone still cares.

"Eva has always been a sensitive child," Gwendolyn continued, her voice trembling now. "And you, Hilda, you have always tormented her. Always picking at her, always comparing her to Carina. It's sickening."

Hilda' s face hardened. "She's jealous, Mother. She always has been. It's not my fault if she can't handle other people's happiness."

"Happiness?" Gwendolyn scoffed. "You call that happiness? You've nurtured a viper under your roof, Hilda, and you've driven your own flesh and blood away. Now, you will call Eva. Right now. You will make her listen. And you will apologize."

Hilda hesitated, her eyes darting towards Iain, who merely shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was her silent accomplice, the one who always let her lead, always chose peace over truth.

I remembered the last time I saw them all, two months ago. The family had gone on a luxury glamping trip, a forced attempt at togetherness. I, ever the desperate one, had gone, hoping for a sliver of connection, a crumb of their affection.

Carina, of course, had orchestrated the "accident." We were hiking near a cliff edge, and she'd feigned a twisted ankle, screaming that I had pushed her. Their reaction was swift, brutal. Hilda hadn't even let me speak.

"Get out of my sight, Eva!" she' d yelled, her hand striking my face. The sting was nothing compared to the pain in my chest. "You are a menace! Always causing problems!"

Heartbroken, disoriented, I had wandered off the trail, the words echoing in my ears. The storm had rolled in quickly, the wind whipping my hair, the rain blinding me. I' d slipped, falling into a deep, hidden ravine. I broke my leg. I was trapped. Alone.

My fading phone battery had been my last hope. I' d called Hilda, again and again. Begging her to pick up. Begging for help. But she never did. Carina had their phone. Carina had answered one of my desperate pleas, heard my screams, and then hung up. She' d blocked my number, deleted the call logs, to "protect" Hilda. And I had died there, alone and cold, my pleas unheard.

Now, Hilda sat in her gilded cage, complaining to Gwendolyn about my supposed "tantrums."

"She's probably just sulking somewhere, feeling sorry for herself," Hilda said, dismissing Gwendolyn's concerns with a wave of her hand. "She's always been so dramatic. She probably just ran off because she's jealous of Carina's success. She always hated being second best."

Second best? I was never even in the race, Mother.

I remembered Gwendolyn's home, the only place I ever felt safe, ever felt loved. When I was small, after you and Father decided I was a burden, she took me in. She taught me to draw, to see the beauty in the mundane. She was my anchor.

You would visit, sometimes. Brief, strained encounters where your eyes would gloss over mine, as if I were a stranger. You'd ask polite questions, then quickly turn your attention to the latest fashion trend or a charity event. I longed for your touch, your praise, anything.

When you finally decided I was old enough to "join the family," I was ecstatic. I thought it meant you wanted me. I packed my meager belongings, dreaming of a real family, a real home.

But I was wrong. I was just another accessory, a prop in your perfect life. Carina had the latest clothes, the expensive gadgets, the private tutors. Kellan had his sports cars and endless allowances. I had hand-me-downs and a tiny room tucked away in the attic. My dreams of a shared life quickly crumbled, replaced by the crushing weight of their indifference.

I remembered the bright red bicycle I'd coveted for my tenth birthday. Carina got a pony that year. I got a lecture on fiscal responsibility. I learned quickly not to ask, not to hope.

I tried so hard to please them. I studied, I volunteered, I even tried to bond with Carina, despite her constant barbs. I was a ghost in my own home, desperate for acknowledgment. But every effort was met with a shrug, a sigh, or a cutting remark.

Now, as a true ghost, I no longer sought their approval. The longing had curdled into a bitter acceptance.

Gwendolyn' s eyes, usually so sharp, were now filled with sorrow. "Hilda, I am warning you. If Eva is not at my jubilee, I will donate every penny of my fortune to charity. Every single penny. Do not think I am bluffing."

Hilda's face paled. The threat struck her where it hurt most: her carefully constructed facade, her financial security. She glanced at Iain, a silent plea for him to intervene, but he merely cleared his throat again, avoiding her gaze.

"She's probably just trying to make us sweat, Mother," Iain said, a weak attempt at defiance. "Eva is always so manipulative, always looking for a handout."

Manipulative? I only ever wanted your love.

"I will personally ensure she attends," Hilda said, her voice tight with suppressed fury. "I'll track her down. If she thinks she can get away with this, she has another thing coming."

She grabbed her phone, her fingers flying across the screen. She tried my number again, then my old email, then social media. Nothing. The frustration mounted in her, twisting her features.

"Damn that girl!" she finally exploded, throwing the phone onto a plush sofa cushion. "She's completely vanished! It's like she wants to spite me!"

Kellan, who had been quietly scrolling through his phone, finally looked up. "Maybe she'll show up for Grandma's party anyway? Eva always loved Grandma."

A small, genuine concern flickered in his eyes, quickly extinguished as he caught Carina's disapproving glance.

Hilda and Iain exchanged a look. "You think so?" Hilda asked, a sliver of hope in her voice. "She wouldn't miss it, would she?"

They seemed to latch onto the idea, clinging to it like a life raft. A wave of manufactured relief washed over them.

Just then, Kellan, who had switched channels, let out a gasp. "Whoa, check this out!"

On the large flat-screen TV, a news anchor's sombre face appeared. "Breaking news tonight: Authorities have cordoned off a section of the New England National Park after significant findings were made in a remote ravine. While details are scarce, police confirm they are investigating a potential crime scene and have advised the public to stay clear of the area."

The camera panned to a heavily wooded area, yellow police tape fluttering in the wind. A dark, jagged crevice was visible in the distance. The very place I had died. The image on the screen, a chilling premonition, hung heavy in the air.

Eva Graham POV:

The news anchor' s voice, a grim monotone, continued to echo through the lavish living room. "We urge all adventurers and hikers to avoid the New England National Park area. Law enforcement officials are not commenting further at this time, but the scene is active and considered dangerous."

Kellan, still glued to the screen, let out a low whistle. "Man, that's wild. Remember that glamping trip? We were right near there."

Carina, ever the dramatic one, shivered theatrically. "Don't even say that, Kellan. It's creepy. I'm glad we left when we did."

Hilda, her forehead creased in a frown, stared intently at the screen. A flicker of unease crossed her face, quickly replaced by her usual disdain.

Kellan suddenly jumped up, his eyes alight. "Wait, this is perfect! I can tell all my college buddies I almost got caught up in a crime scene! That'll totally boost my cred."

Hilda' s brief tension dissipated, replaced by a slight smile. "Well, that's one way to look at it, dear. But let's not make light of a serious situation."

She turned from the screen, her focus shifting. "Now, about your grandmother's birthday. Have you both thought about what you're going to say for her speech? It needs to be heartfelt, but not overly sentimental. And of course, the gifts. Kellan, you know what she prefers."

"Eva always helped me pick out Grandma's gifts," Kellan mumbled, a rare hint of sadness in his voice. "She had a knack for finding just the right thing."

Carina, sensing a shift in attention, quickly interjected. "Don't worry, Mom. My gift is absolutely perfect. Grandma will be thrilled."

Kellan, already distracted, turned back to the TV, clicking through channels. The news report was gone, replaced by a mindless reality show.

Hilda' s smile faltered at the mention of my name, a familiar sneer tightening her lips. "Eva always had to be the special one, didn't she? Always manipulating Gwendolyn with her 'uniqueness'."

She stood up, her silk dressing gown swishing around her ankles. "I'm going to bed. This whole Eva situation has exhausted me."

She retreated to her spacious bedroom, the door clicking softly behind her. I followed, a silent observer in her gilded cage.

Hilda sank onto her king-sized bed, picking up her phone. She scrolled, then checked her messages. Nothing from me. The silence from my end was deafening, even to her.

She remembered our last conversation, a yelling match, as most of ours were. I had tried to explain why I couldn't come to some charity gala she was hosting. I was working, barely making ends meet. She had accused me of being ungrateful, of trying to sabotage her.

A strange, unfamiliar churn twisted in her gut. It wasn't concern, not really. More like... irritation that her carefully curated life was being disrupted.

She recorded another voicemail, her voice sharper than before. "Eva, this is your mother. I' ve called, I' ve texted. Your grandmother' s jubilee is this weekend. If you don't show up, there will be serious consequences. I'm through with your games. Do not disappoint me."

She threw the phone onto her bedside table and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. My ghost hovers, wanting to cry, but no tears would come.

Consequences? You have no idea, Mother.

I remembered my graduation six months ago. My proudest moment. I had graduated with honors, a degree in graphic design, a path I had chosen myself. I called them, eager for them to be there. But Carina had a minor sniffle, a "terrible allergic reaction" to a new perfume. They cancelled at the last minute.

"We can't leave Carina in this state, Eva," Hilda had said, her voice devoid of apology. "You understand, don't you? Some things are more important."

I didn' t understand. I never did. When I expressed my disappointment, they had banished me. "If you're going to be so dramatic, Eva, perhaps it's best you find your own way. We've done enough for you."

I hadn't told Gwendolyn. She would have been furious with Hilda. I never wanted to cause trouble for her. And I couldn' t bring myself to use her connections to find a job, even when I was starving. My pride, what little I had left, wouldn't allow it.

Hilda knew my weakness. She knew I craved her approval, her love. She had used it against me countless times, threatening to cut me off, to disown me. In the past, I would always cave, always apologize, always try to win her back.

But now, I was dead. Her threats were meaningless. The strings that bound me to her were severed.

The next morning, Hilda woke up to a stream of messages. Not from me, but from her friend, Penelope.

Penelope (8:00 AM): Hilda, darling, everything alright? Haven't seen Eva around. She's usually so good about checking in on me.

Penelope (8:05 AM): I bought her that little art book she wanted for Christmas. Planning to give it to her at Gwendolyn's party. Hope she comes!

Penelope (8:10 AM): I know she's been struggling a bit, but she's such a sweet girl. Always thinking of others.

Hilda read the messages, a strange sense of unease settling in her chest. Penelope meant well, but her constant praise of Eva always grated on her nerves. Eva had always been a "sweet girl" to everyone else, a "troublemaker" to her own family.

She tossed her phone onto the bed. Penelope's words were a distant echo. The quiet in the house, however, was deafening. No calls from me. No texts. Nothing. And for the first time, Hilda felt a cold dread creep into her heart. It wasn't just silence anymore. It was an absence. A void.