When the Countdown Ended, I Became the Family Curse Chapter 04 (Continue)
Mom would run her fingers through my hair and tell me I looked like a princess in my new dress.
Dad would swing me up onto his shoulders and promise to take me everywhere — everywhere worth seeing in the whole world.
Sean used to sneak me his yogurt — the one he’d been saving for himself all day.
All of it felt close enough to touch, and impossibly far away.
I forced my eyes open. Still the storage room. No light. No sound. Nothing.
My fingers twitched, reaching under the pillow for the letter — the one I’d written to Mom, Dad, and Sean.
I’d written it a long time ago, back when dying had still been the plan. Funny — I’d prepared for everything except surviving.
Next to it sat a pink piggy bank. Not much inside, but enough to buy Sean a small toy.
I drifted off again, clinging to one last thought — that when they finally found me, maybe the letter and the piggy bank would make them a little less angry.
This time the sleep was different. Deep and perfectly empty.
I could hear my own heartbeat — thud, thud, thud — each one quieter than the last, until there was nothing at all.
The storage room went silent. No one knew. No one came.
The girl who’d spent her whole life waiting to die finally got her wish.
The moment I left my body, I was weightless.
I hovered there, suspended, looking down at the body on the bed — stiff, small, still mine. So this was real. People really did leave something behind.
I drifted through the wall and out of that tiny room into the hallway. Lunch was on the table. Three place settings.
Mom had cooked, Dad was dishing out the food, and Sean sat waiting in his chair.
I sat down in my usual seat and waited for someone to ask about Mia.
Nobody did.
After lunch, Sean got up and limped toward the storage room. Something in me surged forward.
I screamed at him, voiceless — open it, please, Sean, just open the door — I won’t cause any trouble, I swear, I won’t —
His hand was an inch from the knob when Mom’s voice cracked through the hall.
“Sean! What are you doing? Get away from there! Doesn’t your leg hurt enough already?”
He flinched and scrambled back without a word.
That afternoon, Ms. Davis from next door stopped by. She asked about me — said she hadn’t seen me in a couple of days.
Something flickered across Mom’s face, gone as fast as it came. “She’s not feeling great. Resting in her room.”
“Is it serious? I’ve got some Tylenol if you need —” I almost laughed. Tylenol.
“No, no — she’ll be fine in a day or two.” Mom’s voice came out too fast.
Ms. Davis let it go. Another chance slipped away.
After she left, Mom kept glancing toward the storage room. She never went over.
When Dad came home that evening, I threw myself in front of him, arms outstretched. Please — just go look at me. I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be good.
The countdown was over this time, I told him. For real. But he walked right through me.
“Is she still in there?” he asked. Mom said nothing.
“Open the door,” Dad said. Something inside me broke open with relief.
Was this it? Were they finally going to find me? Would they cry — or would they see the letter, and the piggy bank, and know I’d tried to be good?
Mom was halfway to the door when the phone rang. Dad answered. Whatever he heard drained the color from his face — his knees buckled, and he had to catch himself on the counter.
Mom rushed to steady him. I watched the storage room door stay shut and felt the almost-ness of it like a wound.
“We have to go — now. The nursing home just called. Your grandmother — she’s not going to make it.”
They grabbed Sean and left. The door to the storage room stayed shut. I stayed forgotten.
I was dead. I had no heart left to break, or so I thought. But hearing about Grandmother — something still ached where it used to be.
Of everyone, Grandmother had loved me the most fiercely. She’d spent years lying awake at night, haunted by the number over my head.
I followed them — Mom, Dad, Sean — to see Grandmother one last time.
Grandmother was barely there — skin and bones, her hand clutched Dad’s wrist like she’d fall through the bed if she let go.
“Miller, where’s Mia? Why isn’t she here?”
Dad couldn’t look at her.
“She… she’s at home. She stayed behind.”
Grandmother’s eyes flew open. “What did you do to her?”
“Mia did something wrong, so I… I sent her to her room without dinner.” Grandmother’s grip went slack. Her lips moved, but the sound was almost gone.
“Mom? I can’t — what are you saying?” Dad pressed his ear close to her lips.
“What — what happened to Mia? What do you mean she didn’t die?”
I was too far away to hear, but I saw the moment it hit Dad — whatever she said — because his whole body went rigid, like something had snapped inside him.
His face went blank — eyes wide, unblinking, as if the world had just tilted sideways. Then he screamed my name.
“Mia!!”
The sound tore through me. Dad’s face was white — he was already running, brushing past Mom, ignoring her questions.
He kept saying it as he ran — “It’s wrong, it’s all wrong” — over and over, all the way home.
What was wrong?