The Forgotten Heiress

The third year I was home, I jumped from the roof.

My soul lingered in the air, a ghost expecting a spectacle. I wanted to see the parents and the brother who had despised me finally break down, sobbing with a regret that had come three years too late.

But my father just shook his head, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes as he looked down at my broken body. “So dramatic,” he muttered.

My mother pressed her lips into a thin line, and a long, slow breath escaped her. It was a sigh of relief.

My brother, Caleb, stepped in front of the girl who had taken my place, shielding her from the gruesome sight of my end. But she saw enough to start crying, and in an instant, the entire family was a fortress of arms around her, cooing and comforting.

I floated there for a long time, a hollow ache where my heart used to be. Then, a bitter laugh escaped my spectral form. Of course.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day they first brought me home.

1

It took me a long time, sitting in stunned silence on the plush velvet sofa, to accept that I was alive again.

Across from me, the people who were supposed to be my parents dabbed at their red-rimmed eyes, their voices thick as they spoke of a decade of longing, of the guilt that had eaten at them.

They had missed me for ten years, they said.

The first time I lived this, their words had been a dam breaking inside me. I’d collapsed into their arms, sobbing with the sheer, naive belief that I had found it. A home.

That I was loved.

But that belief ended three years later, with my hands tangled in my own hair, my screams echoing as I threw myself from their roof, hoping my death could finally buy me an ounce of their affection.

It couldn’t. No one had ever loved me.

So this time, I felt nothing. I sat there, as still and silent as a piece of wood.

“Oh, honey, you must still be overwhelmed. It’s okay.” My mother’s voice was syrupy sweet. She took my hand, her skin soft against my calloused one. “Let’s go pick out your room. Whichever one you want!”

My father followed, smiling, pulling out his phone to call my brother, Caleb. He was telling him to hurry home.

From the speaker, Caleb’s voice was flat. A single word. “Busy.”

My father’s smile tightened. My mother’s was strained. She turned to me, offering a quick explanation. “Your brother’s a very important man at the company. He’s basically running things now. We probably won’t see him until the weekend.”

Last time, I believed her.

This time, it didn’t matter. I’d just pretend to believe her again.

The third floor was a gallery of perfect girlhood bedrooms, each one bright, airy, and decorated in soft pastels.

“Take your pick, Mia,” my father said, his voice beaming with false generosity. “Any one of them can be yours.”

My eyes landed on the room closest to the stairs. On the queen-sized bed, propped against a mountain of pillows, sat a giant, fluffy teddy bear.

Last time, that bear had been a siren’s call. Believing I was the cherished, long-lost daughter, I had chosen that room without a second thought. I loved that bear.

Just like last time, my parents’ faces flickered. They exchanged a look, a tiny, almost imperceptible tightening around their eyes, before the smiles returned. “Oh, Mia, honey, we forgot to mention. That’s your sister Chloe’s room.”

“She’s such a thoughtful girl,” my mother rushed to add. “She insisted on clearing it out, said you should have your pick. You deserve the biggest one, of course…”

I remember blinking at them then, my heart swelling with gratitude. “She’s letting me have her room? That’s so nice of her.”

I still wanted the bear. I still wanted that room.

My parents exchanged another look. They were hesitating, words caught in their throats.

But the first me, giddy with a joy I’d never known, had already run inside and thrown my arms around that bear.

And right on cue, Chloe walked in, her prep school backpack slung over one shoulder.

2

Chloe and I were the same age, fifteen.

But she was a woman of the world, and I was a girl who knew only dirt and chores. She was polished; I was raw.

Seeing me in her room, her lips tightened for a fraction of a second before a perfect, dimpled smile appeared. “I heard my sister was home, so I got out of class early. You like this room? It’s yours, then.”

She bit her lip and turned away, a perfect portrait of reluctant sacrifice.

My parents saw it all. Every flicker, every gesture.

My mother hurried in, trying to guide me away. “Mia, let’s look at the others. This one is… well, it’s a bit too big, don’t you think?”

“Why?” I asked, genuinely confused. The atmosphere had shifted, grown heavy and tight, and a knot of anxiety was forming in my stomach. But I couldn’t understand it.

Weren’t these the people who had cried for me, who loved me? Wasn’t Chloe the sister who had generously offered me her own space? I was their daughter. Why was it wrong to want a room I liked?

My questions hung in the air.

My mother’s expression flickered again. My father stood stiffly in the doorway, his jaw set.

Then Chloe, the peacemaker, stepped forward. “It’s okay, Mom. I’ll help my sister make the bed. This is her home now. She should have whatever she wants.”

3

So, I stayed.

On the farm, my world had been pots, pans, and fields. In the city, I was lost. I didn’t know the rules. I didn’t know what was wrong.

I hadn’t even been in Chloe’s room for a full day when Caleb came home.

He found me sitting on the bed, reading a book. He stormed in, grabbed my arm, and dragged me into the hallway, his face a mask of cold fury.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he hissed, his voice low and venomous. “This is Chloe’s room. Have you no decency? You think you can just show up and take over?”

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