They Froze My Funds for a Wedding, So I Gave Them a Funeral

The heart monitor gave one long beep. Then it went quiet. The weight I had carried for ten years lifted. I rose toward the ceiling and looked down at the body on the bed. Nurses crowded around it, moving frantically. Their faces blurred as the distance between us widened. From up there, none of it seemed to touch me. Something pulled me through the hospital wall and across the city to the only place that had ever felt like mine: my grandmother's mansion. I passed through the oak doors and entered the grand sitting room. My family was celebrating the wedding they had scheduled for the next morning. No one was mourning. My mother, Helen, fastened Grandmother's heirloom diamond necklace around Chloe's neck. It had been promised to me for my wedding day. Chloe turned left and right before the antique mirror while Mother adjusted the clasp. “It's perfect on you, darling.” Mother's eyes filled. “It might as well have been made for you.” Chloe touched the diamonds and studied herself in the antique mirror. Color rose neatly in her cheeks. “But it was meant for Aria. I feel so guilty.” “Nonsense,” Mother snapped. “Aria is selfish. She doesn't deserve anything this beautiful. You deserve the world.” I hung above them, silent and unseen. Chloe's guilt matched the rare blood disorder she had faked for ten years. That lie had cost me blood, marrow, and finally my life. A young nurse from my room rushed in, her face pale and her hands shaking, and held a phone out to my father, Richard. “Mr. Sterling, it's the hospital. It's urgent. Aria's condition is critical.” Father snatched it from her. “What is it now? I'm busy!” I moved close enough to hear the head nurse. “Sir, her vitals are gone. She's crashing. You need to approve the emergency procedure *now*!” “Crashing?” Father laughed. “She's throwing a tantrum because she isn't the center of attention. Tell Aria to stop this charade and sign the property transfer. Chloe needs this house as a wedding gift, and I won't let her theatrics ruin it.” The nurse started crying. “Sir, she can't sign. She's unconscious. She's dying!” “Then put a pen in her hand and move it for her!” he shouted. “I don't care how you do it. I want that agreement signed before tomorrow morning.” He hung up and tossed the phone onto a velvet armchair. My view snapped back to the hospital. My body convulsed once and went still. The line on the heart monitor stayed flat. Tears ran down the head nurse's face as she said, “Time of death, 7:42 p.m.” Father had hung up on the last minute of my life. I looked through my transparent hands. The pleading was over. They still thought I was faking my death to spoil the wedding. By morning, even Father would run out of excuses. A dead girl cannot be forced to sign a deed. She can still attend a wedding. I would be waiting when the music began.