The nurse's office smells like antiseptic and cheap air freshener.
Ami sits on the stiff cot, swinging her legs, the soles of her shoes tapping the metal frame. The nurse, Elira, according to her name tag, pats her shoulder with practiced sympathy.
"Just a mild concussion. You fainted during P.E. and hit your head. Nothing serious, but you should rest."
Ami presses her fingers to the bandage on her temple. The lie is almost funny.
She didn't faint.
She died.
And now she's back.
They make her wait for someone to pick her up.
The first to arrive is Celeste, her stepmother, in a tailored cream blouse and pearls that catch the fluorescent light. Her perfume, something expensive and floral, fills the room before she does.
"Ami, darling." Celeste's smile is a perfect curve of painted lips. "You gave us such a scare."
Her hands don't reach out. Not the way they would for Alia.
Aron arrives next, his white coat crisp over his shoulders, phone glowing in his hand. He doesn't look up. "Let's go. Everyone's waiting."
No *Are you okay?* No *How do you feel?*
Ami stands and smooths her wrinkled uniform skirt.
Some things never change.
[After reaching home]
The living room is colder than she remembers.
Framed photos line the mantel: Maxim, Celeste, Aron, Alia. Smiling. Perfect. Ami's face is in none of them.
Then:
"Careful, Alia!"
A collective gasp ripples through the room.
At the top of the staircase, Alia wobbles, one hand on the banister, the other pressed dramatically to her chest. Her ballet flat scuffs the edge of a step. It's a stumble so rehearsed that Ami could time it in her sleep.
Celeste rushes forward, arms out. "Baby, are you okay? Did you twist anything?"
Alia sniffles, her big dark eyes glistening. "I almost fell..."
Aron is already at her side, fingers pressing her ankle with clinical precision. "You should be more careful. You could have been hurt."
Ami watches from the doorway.
No one notices the bandage on her temple.
No one sees her knees tremble as she steps forward.
No one looks at her at all.
In her last life, she would have been the first to reach Alia. She would have smoothed her hair and whispered, *I've got you.*
Now she just smiles.
*How foolish I was.*
"Ami." Her father's voice cuts through the fuss, sharp and expectant. Maxim doesn't glance up from his newspaper. "Bring some ointment for Alia's ankle."
"Of course."
*Always her. Always invisible until they need something.*
She moves slowly past the cluster of concern. The hardwood is cool under her bare feet. She left her shoes at the door, a habit no one else bothers with.
Alia peeks at her from under her lashes, lips curling in a smirk that only Ami can see.
Ami doesn't flinch.
She hands over the ointment with gentle fingers, her voice soft and sweet. "Here, Alia. Be careful next time."
Celeste beams. "That's my good girl."
Ami's smile doesn't waver.
*Good girl. Quiet girl. Forgotten girl.*
*I can play this role too. The sweet older sister. The invisible caretaker. The easy target.*
But her mind is somewhere else.
On the letters hidden in drawers. On the documents she found in her last life.
On the truth.
Everything they own is hers. The house. The business. The family name. It was all her mother's inheritance, and it was all in Ami's name, until they planned to shift it quietly to her brother.
They thought she would never find out. They thought she would always love them too much to ask.
*Not this time.*
She looks at them, all gathered around Alia, doting on her as if she were the sun.
She smiles again.
"Don't worry," she says aloud. "I'll always take care of my family."
And inside, she whispers:
*Until I take back everything that was mine.*