Return of the Forsaken Daughter

The system's voice echoed in my ear just as I was settling into my third year of modern life.

It said my parents regretted what theyd done. Theyd even hired a shaman to summon my soul back.

To maintain the world's order, I had no choice but to return to the home that had once cast me out.

This time, I decided to play the part of the perfect daughter: obedient, gentle, and magnanimous.

When my mother said the "fake" daughter, Clarice, needed quiet to recover, I immediately moved into a cramped, dark storage room. I didn't make a sound, even when a rat scurried across my face in the dead of night.

When my father said he needed my heart's blood to save Clarice, I took a knife to my own chest, filled a bowl to the brim, and asked if it was enough.

Even when Clarice, in a fit of rage, tore up my only family photograph, I just calmly swept the pieces into the dustpan.

I told myself, just three more days. Then everything will go back to normal.

I remembered the night they threw me out. Clarice had handed me a bottle of herbicide. "When are you planning to die?" she'd asked. "Mom and Dad are waiting for your heart. For me."

Id stared at the closed doors of the grand house in the distance, a hollow ache in my chest. Then, with a faint, bitter laugh, I ended my life under a bridge.

...

I counted the pieces. Sixty-four. Clarice had torn the photo into sixty-four tiny shreds.

I discreetly pocketed the one piece with my own face on it and calmly began to clean up the mess. When I turned around, I met my mother's startled gaze.

"Nova," she said, "you've changed."

I smiled at her but said nothing.

I knew what she meant. When they first found me and brought me back to the Harrington estate, I had played on their guilt, acting out, demanding everything. Whatever Clarice, the imposter they'd raised, had, I had to have double.

They gave me everything I asked for.

Until Clarice was diagnosed with a heart condition. After she nearly died, everything changed. My parents began to openly favor her, calling me ungrateful and selfish. The hope, the attention I had so desperately craved, was once again lavished on Clarice. Blood ties became a useless, painful tether, doing nothing but twisting the knife deeper.

I shook my head, pulling myself from the memory. "Clarice is sick," I said. "I should be more understanding."

"Aren't you happy I'm like this now, Mom?" After all, she was the one who had pointed to the door and screamed, "If you can't accept Clarice, then get out of my house! I wish I'd never found you! Then Clarice wouldn't have gotten sick from all your tantrums!"

I had stood there, frozen, humiliation washing over me. Later that night, I'd swallowed the herbicide Clarice gave me and left that world behind.

My mother stared at my placid face, at a loss for words. "Nova, Clarice explained... She said the herbicide was expired. She was just trying to scare you."

"And you were in the hospital for pneumonia," she continued, "from being out in the rain for so long. You can't blame her for that."

"She's sick, so I have to be the bigger person," we said in unison, a mantra they had repeated to me hundreds of times since Clarices diagnosis.

Suddenly, a surge of rebellion coursed through me. "Does Clarice look like she has a heart condition to you?" I gestured to her rosy cheeks, my voice dripping with scorn. "She can cry for three hours straight without taking a breath just to frame me. Is that something a person with a weak heart can do?"

My mother faltered, but before she could respond, Clarice burst into tears. "Mom, I know she still blames me," she sobbed. "She hates me for stealing her life. It should have been me who died that day!"

From out of nowhere, she produced another bottle of herbicide and made a show of trying to drink it.

"Clarice!" my mother shrieked, shoving me aside to get to her. I stumbled, my hip crashing painfully against the corner of a table.

I stared at the plastic bottle on the floor, the clear water spilling out. A wave of profound weariness washed over me.

Didn't the system say my parents had sought out a shaman, willing to sacrifice half their own lives just to bring me back? Why, then, did they still fall for Clarice's pathetic act so easily? Why didn't they even bother to question it?

My mother cradled Clarice, a mixture of sobs and relieved laughter escaping her lips, as if she were holding a priceless, recovered treasure.

I watched them for a few moments, then turned and walked back to the suffocating darkness of the storage room.

Even after being reborn, I couldn't shake my fear of the dark.

Clarice's biological fathermy foster fatherhad been a cruel man. He was a violent alcoholic who had driven my foster mother away and then turned his lecherous gaze on me. When I fought back, he locked me in a closet for three days to "reflect."

When my real mother heard about this, she was consumed with rage. My father had the man beaten severely. It was because of this that they'd abandoned the idea of sending Clarice back to him.

"Nova," they had promised, "we can easily afford to raise you both. We swear we'll give you a better life. Let Clarice stay. She can be your sister."

I had thrown plates, flipped tables, and smashed everything I could get my hands on, refusing to let her stay. I remember it clearly. It was the first time my parents had ever looked at me with disappointment.

"You're so selfish, Nova."

"This is our decision. We don't need your approval."

I closed my eyes, curling up in the corner, trying to push the memories away. The very first day I returned, I had voluntarily moved into this dark, damp cellar. My mother had looked at me with a complex expression, but Clarice's whining had quickly stolen her attention.

The scuttling of rats began around me. I could almost feel their tiny feet on my skin. These creatures that would make Clarice scream and run to our father were old friends to me. Locked away and ignored, I used to talk to the rats. Their squeaks were a symphony in my silent world.

I counted on my fingers. Two and a half days left until the system's deadline. In two and a half days, I could escape this miserable world and go back to my real home.

Before I could savor the thought, the cellar door was kicked open. My father, his face a thundercloud, grabbed me by the collar and dragged me to Clarice's room.

It was a princess's dream, filled with dolls and stuffed animals. She had once boasted that our father had brought them back for her from his business trips all over the worldall limited editions.

After I came to live with them, my father had asked me what I wanted. Compared to Clarice's easy, confident requests, I couldn't think of a single thing. The world outside my miserable upbringing was so vast and new.

Later, I overheard him sighing to my mother. "That girl, Nova... she's a lost cause. She has none of Clarice's charm. We'll just have to make sure she's fed. If we give her any real responsibility, she'll run the company into the ground."

I stood there, stunned. I grew up in squalor. No one had ever taught me these things. Was that my fault, too?

Their blatant favoritism, piece by piece, had crushed me. When Clarice handed me that bottle of herbicide, all I had felt was relief.

A sharp sting on my cheek brought me back to the present. Clarice had thrown her favorite doll at me.

"It's all her fault!" she shrieked. "I was getting better, but the moment she showed up, my heart started hurting again! Daddy, am I going to die?"

My father gathered her into his arms, his voice a soft murmur. He looked at me, his eyes full of a complicated emotion. "Nova, your mother and I brought you back because you are our daughter. You have our love, and you will inherit our fortune. Must you also covet what is Clarice's?"

I wanted to scream, what have I ever coveted from her?

But I remembered the system's instructions and held my tongue. I pulled a small knife from my pocket, pulled up my shirt, and sliced open the barely healed wound on my chest.

Drops of blood fell to the floor, quickly forming a dark pool. My face grew pale, and I could feel the life draining from me.

"Host, are you insane?" the system shrieked in my mind. "If you die now, you can't go back!"

My mind was a chaotic mess. Why, after I had finally found happiness, after I had finally been set free, did they have to bring me back with their so-called love? Just so they could play the part of the perfect, caring parents?

I looked up and met my father's panicked gaze. A small smile touched my lips. "Is this enough blood?" I asked. "If not, you can have it all. Anything to save Clarice. After all, she's the only daughter you've ever really wanted, isn't she?"

My vision blurred. The system's alarms blared in my head, trying to keep me conscious.

The last thing I saw before I closed my eyes was my father running toward me.

...

Is it over?