My body grew impossibly light. I drifted up, away from the hospital room, pulled toward somewhere unfamiliar.
Old folks always said the dead return home.
But my soul didn't go home. It drifted to a mansion in the city center.
A luxury van idled at the entrance. The driver opened the passenger door.
A familiar figure stepped out.
Dad.
Dad—who had always worn threadbare work clothes—was dressed in an expensive suit.
The front door swung open. A girl in her twenties emerged, looking eerily like me.
She hooked her arm through his, beaming. "Daddy! Everyone's ready, just waiting for you!"
Daddy?
Did Dad... have another daughter?
My soul followed them inside.
Pristine white carpet. Blinding luxury. Crystal, gold, silk.
And there—
Mom.
My mom, who had been "bedridden" year-round, was dressed in pearls and glittering jewelry.
She skillfully uncorked a bottle of wine, poured it into an exquisite decanter, and divided it among four stemmed glasses.
On the table sat a huge cake. The message read: Happy 18th Birthday to Serena Abbott & Anna Gilbert
The woman who looked exactly like me lifted her glass with a smile.
"Daddy, Mommy, let's all wish my little sister—whom I've never met—a happy birthday!"