The Daughter Who Was Supposed to Die Chapter 03

The Daughter Who Was Supposed to Die Chapter 03

“Annie.”
Dad Nick’s voice came through the heavy wooden door, low and hoarse.
He was crouching at the basement door, holding a small strip of dark jerky between his fingers.
I drifted in front of him and crouched, just watching. Dark circled hollowed his eyes, and red veins spread through the whites.
He wasn’t even forty, but gray had already crept into his temples.
“I know you’re mad.”
His voice was so soft, like he was coaxing a kid throwing a tantrum.
“But your sister’s birthday is tomorrow. Can you endure it just a little longer?”
I stood right there in front of him, less than an arm’s length away.
“After tomorrow, what do you want to eat? I’ll make smoked rabbit. You love my smoked rabbit, right? Last time you said extra spicy. I still remember.”
He was making promises.
He was… making promises to someone who was already dead.
I opened my mouth, wanted to say something.
‘Dad, I’m dead. You don’t have to sweet-talk me anymore.’
‘I don’t need smoked rabbit. No extra spice.’
‘I won’t ever want to eat anything again.’
But nothing came out.
I reached for his cheek, and my fingertips slipped right through the lines of his face, catching nothing but only a slice of icy air.
“Annie?”
He called again, a tiny thread of hope hiding in his tone.
For a long time, there was nothing but quiet behind the door.
He let out a soft sigh, heavy with exhaustion and disappointment, and slowly pushed himself up.
“Annie, why are you still being stubborn?”
He shoved the jerky hard through the crack at the bottom of the door.
“Calm down for now. Tomorrow, I will take you out for something good.”
Then he turned and left. His footsteps gradually faded down the hallway.
I stared at the shut door and opened my mouth. No sound. Just a void.
‘Don’t bother, Dad.’
‘You’ll never get the chance.’
The hallway fell quiet again. Only the faint pop and crackle of the fireplace drifted from the living room.
Warm, yet so far away.
Before long, more footsteps stopped at the door.
It was Mom.
She crouched where Dad had been and absently picked at the rough grain of the wood with her fingertips.
She stayed silent for a long time before she finally spoke, calling my name.
“Annie.”
Just like Dad earlier, Mom’s voice was also sounded gentle, but with a tremor even she probably didn’t notice.
“I know you’re upset, but there’s nothing we can do.”
“I love you. You know that, right?”
She kept talking, like she was confessing to the air, or trying hard to convince herself.
“Millie is out of time. Please don’t make trouble again. Let her go in peace, okay?”
I floated up to her and saw the wet glimmer at the corner of her eyes.
But I also saw the selfishness and cowardice hiding under her forced toughness.
“After tomorrow, I’ll make your favorite smoked venison. A big bowl. All for you.”
Her voice got smaller and smaller, almost a whisper by the end.
“I’ll also sew you a new cloak, with fur, the warmest kind. I’ll take you to Moonlight Forest to see the firefly grass and Moonlight Lake. Didn’t you say the other wolf pups in the pack have all been there already? I’ll take you, too. Whatever you want…”
Then she continued, begging, “So today—just today—don’t make trouble. Be good, okay?”
She waited a moment, but still no response from inside.
I stood right in front of her with my transparent body, crying without a sound.
But she couldn’t see me.
The faint guilt and softness on her face drained away, replaced by anger she couldn’t hold back.
She shot to her feet and stomped, pissed.
“Annie! You’re so damn spoiled!”
She clenched her teeth. Her voice shook as if she might cry, but she forced herself to stay cold.
“You have no compassion at all! You don’t understand your mom and dad! You don’t understand Millie!”
She sighed, then said in annoyed tone, “Fine. Stay right here!”
She held her breath, spun around, and stormed off without looking back.
The basement fell back into dead silence.
Only cold stone walls and a thin strip of light under the door.
And that hard, forgotten strip of dark jerky on the floor.
And me—already nothing but a cold wisp of a soul—watching it all in silence.
Waiting for one of them to finally see the truth.
Night sank deeper. Wind from the forest howled against the cabin’s walls, carrying late-autumn cold.
Mom and Dad kept watch outside Millie’s door, not saying a word, like they were quietly waiting for the goodbye that had to come.
Suddenly, the yard gate eased open.
Old but steady footsteps came closer, one by one.
Mom Sasha jerked her head up, tear tracks still on her face. “Who’s there?”
The door swung open.
Grandma Lia stood in the doorway, wrapped in a dark gray cloak, her silver hair tousled by the night wind.
She carried a bulging cloth bag stuffed with dried meat and fresh honey fruit.
“Mother… what are you doing here?”
Mom scrambled to her feet, trying to hide the panic in her voice.
“Because tomorrow is Millie’s fifteenth birthday.”
Grandma’s voice was rough but firm. Her gaze swept the living room.
“So I came to see her.”
Mom quickly stepped aside to let her in, lowering her voice. “Millie’s resting in her room. I’ll go get her.”
“No need.”
Grandma lifted a hand to stop Mom. Her eyes moved around the room, and her frown deepened.
“Where’s Annie? Why don’t I see her?”