The Unloved Bride: Her Heart's Legacy

I' ve been dead for three years.

From the quiet place I existed, I watched my family's tech company crumble, my father's health fail, and my mother turn into a ghost of her former self.

My beautiful sister, Brittany, had five fiancés, each dying before their wedding day, a tragedy the papers called a curse.

Desperate, my father hired Madame Zelda, a spiritual medium, to banish the "restless spirit" causing their misery.

She walked in, took one look, and declared, "The problem isn' t a curse on this house. It' s a spirit. Your youngest daughter, Chloe."

My mother' s reaction chilled me to my core: "That little brat. Even dead she' s causing trouble! Always bringing us misery! She was a jinx from the day she was born!"

That night, I watched her drag every last one of my belongings into the backyard and set them ablaze. If I could go back, she screamed, she' d make sure I never saw the light of day.

I always knew no one loved me, but I never understood why. They were so worried about ghosts, yet the real monsters lived right there, down the hall.

When Miller Innovations finally collapsed, my father' s heart gave out again.

More desperate, they called Madame Zelda, begging her to banish me for good.

"The energy is not coming from your current home. It' s stronger elsewhere. The old family estate. The place she was last seen. That is the source."

My mother, frantic, shouted, "We have to dig her up! We have to burn her bones!"

Brittany, ever the angel, rushed to comfort her, "Poor Chloe… she must be in so much pain to lash out like this. We have to help her find peace."

But I saw the cold, calculating satisfaction flash in her eyes.

They were coming for me, convinced they were victims fighting a monster.

At the estate, as my father and uncles dug into the earth, Brittany sobbed, "I was the one who convinced her to come here that day. She said she wanted to bury a time capsule."

A phantom pain hit me. I wasn' t excited; I was terrified.

Their shovels struck something hard-a small, cheap wooden box. Not a coffin, just a crate.

They pried it open, expecting bones.

But the coffin was empty.

Panic erupted. My aunt shrieked, "The demon has taken her body!"

Madame Zelda picked up a mud-caked digital photo frame from the bottom of the box. "The spirit is not in the ground. It is in the truth."

She powered it on. The screen flickered to life, showing me as a happy child, then as a teenager, full of trust, thanking Brittany.

Brittany collapsed, sobbing, "I just wanted her to be happy!"

My parents comforted her, then looked at the empty coffin and the frame with renewed anger.

They still thought I was mocking them. But I saw Brittany' s eyes turn cold and hard. Her grief was a performance.