"That girl's run off somewhere wild."
"If she comes back tonight, I'll break her legs!"
Dad, I'm never coming back to this house again.
Before dinner, Herbert spotted something on his phone—a circus performing at the town square at eight o'clock. He pointed at the screen, at a lion leaping through a ring of fire, his face lit up with excitement.
"Mom, I wanna go!"
"Sure!"
Mom barely glanced at the screen before agreeing.
During dinner, Herbert happened to look across the table.
That was my seat. It sat empty.
"Mom, where's Kate?"
At the mention of me, Mom placed a peeled shrimp into Herbert's bowl and shot an impatient glance at my empty chair.
"Her? Who knows where she's wandered off to."
"Our little Herbert is the good one—obedient, well-behaved, never makes Mom and Dad worry."
My heart clenched.
So ghosts could feel pain after all.
It finally hit me.
They never loved me. Even now that I was dead, they couldn't think of a single good thing about me.
Herbert shoveled rice into his mouth, pausing every few bites to wheedle and charm Mom and Dad. Laughter rose from the table, easy and warm, the three of them together.
I watched their happy little family and understood: without me was when they were happiest.
After dinner, Grandma cleared the table, wiped the water from her hands, and turned to head back to her room.
Herbert grabbed her hand. "Grandma, I want you to come with us."
Grandma's eyes glistened. She stroked Herbert's head.
"Be good. You all go have fun. Grandma will stay home."
Herbert looked at Mom with a pout. "Mom, if Grandma doesn't go, I'm not going either."
Mom and Dad couldn't help but laugh.
"Fine, we'll all go."
From start to finish, everyone was perfectly in sync.
No one mentioned me. No one suggested going out to look for me.
Why isn't Kate home yet?
What if something happened to her?
Nobody asked. As if I had never been part of this family at all.
They opened the door, and I followed them into the car.
I sat beside Herbert, watching Grandma play and joke with him the whole ride.
When they arrived, the square was already packed. Food stalls lined both sides, the air thick with grease and sugar. Herbert jumped out of the car and made a beeline for the takoyaki stand.
Mom watched him run off. No scolding crossed her face—only indulgence.
I remembered the year I turned eight. Mom had taken Herbert and me to a lantern festival. I asked for a candy apple, and she snapped at me.
"All you ever think about is eating. Didn't we just have dinner at home?"
"Already hungry again? Look at your brother—see how well-behaved he is."
Herbert stuck his tongue out at me, then bolted toward a trampoline across the way.
"Mom, I wanna play on that!"
Mom's expression transformed in an instant. "Okay, sweetheart. Mommy's coming."
After that, I never asked my parents for anything again.
Because I knew. In their eyes, there was only Herbert.
The circus music started, and Herbert was the first to push his way to the front.
The show began.
Monkeys riding bicycles. Lions leaping through rings of fire. Sea lions balancing balls on their noses. One act after another, each more dazzling than the last. The crowd erupted in applause.
Then, right at the peak of the performance, a woman came tearing through the crowd like she'd lost her mind.
She grabbed at every person she passed.
"Have you seen my daughter? She's wearing a white princess dress. She was right here waiting for me just a minute ago."
One by one, people shook their heads. No one had seen her.
The woman's face crumpled with guilt. She slapped herself, again and again.
"This is my fault. This is all my fault."
