After I Died, My Family Was Still Waiting for Me to Apologize

My older sister was frail from childhood.

When she had a fever, Mom made me kneel by her bed and coax her, saying a younger sister should make her older sister happy.

She couldn't eat spicy food, so there wasn't a pepper in the house for over a decade, not even on my birthday.

Her heart was weak, and the night before my college entrance exams, I was sent to study in the hallway because Mom said the sound of me turning pages would disturb her rest.

Later, my sister's kidneys failed, and the doctor said she needed a transplant as soon as possible.

Mom slapped my medical report down in front of me, her tone utterly matter-of-fact.

"You're her younger sister. You won't die from losing a kidney."

For the first time, I refused her.

That night, my older brother, Shen Yan, secretly dragged me to an old warehouse in the west of the city. He took my bag and phone, then locked the iron door behind me.

"I'll let you out when you agree to donate a kidney to Mingzhu," he said.

I pounded on the door until my palms bled.

At midnight, the warehouse caught fire.

Three days later, Mom posted on her social media.

The picture showed my sister lying in a hospital bed.

She wrote: [My younger daughter deliberately disappeared while my older daughter is waiting for a lifesaving transplant. Raising such a cold-blooded child is the greatest punishment of my life.]

She didn't know.

The person she was cursing had already burned into an unrecognizable corpse.