Depois da Minha Morte, Meu Pai Se Arrependeu Profundamente

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Ten years ago, I insisted on dragging my mother and stepsister to the back mountain to play on my birthday.
Mother fell into a stone pit and died on that very day—my birthday.
Father hated me for causing Mother’s death through my recklessness. He disowned me and instead treated my stepsister as his own flesh and blood.
“Don’t be angry, Father. I went to pay the debt to Mother.”
On the Crossing River Bridge, a mangled corpse dangled limply at the bridgehead.

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I am dead.

After death, my soul involuntarily hovered beside Father, unable to leave.
It had been a long time since I looked closely at Father. He had aged considerably; white hairs now graced his temples.
Ever since I was eight, when my mischief caused Mother’s death, Father had hated me.
He said I was a jinx, a curse, and that he would never forgive me—he would act as though I never existed.
Since then, he had ignored me for ten long years, yet if anyone dared mention me in his presence, he would instantly fly into a rage.
“Don’t be angry, Father. After all, I listened to you—I went to repay Mother.”
“Can you recognize me, Father?”
The one who battered my face with stones left it unrecognizable. Has that made your job harder?
But it’s alright. You’re so capable; you’ll surely solve the case.
I floated in midair, gazing at this weathered man, my heart a tangle of emotions. Would he grieve for my death?
The answer came the next moment.
No, he wouldn’t.

I hadn’t answered my uncle’s calls all day.