The nurse's office smells like antiseptic and cheap air freshener.
Ami sits on the stiff cot, swinging her legs slowly, the soles of her shoes brushing against 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., hit your head. Nothing serious, but you should rest."
Ami's fingers press against the bandage on her temple. The lie is almost funny.
She hadn't fainted.
She had died.
And now she's back.
They make her wait until someone picks 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 to touch Ami. Not like they would for Alia.
Aron arrives next, his white doctor's coat crisp over his shoulders, phone glowing in his hand. He doesn't look up as he says, "Let's go. Everyone's waiting."
No Are you okay?No How do you feel?
Ami stands, smoothing 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 clutching the banister, the other pressed dramatically to her chest. Her ballet flats scuff the edge of the step,a stumble so rehearsed, Ami could time it in her sleep.
Celeste rushes forward, arms outstretched. "Baby, are you okay? Did you twist anything?"
Alia sniffles, her big, dark eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I almost fell…"
Aron is already at her side, fingers prodding her ankle with clinical precision. "You should've been careful. You could've been hurt."
Ami watches from the doorway.
No one notices the bandage on her temple.
No one sees the way her knees tremble as she steps forward.
No one looks at her at all.
(In her last life, she would've been the first to reach Alia. Would've 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. He 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 surrounding Alia. The hardwood floor is cool beneath her bare feet,she'd toed off her shoes at the door, a habit no one else bothers with.
Alia peeks at her from beneath her lashes, lips curling in a smirk only Ami can see.
Ami doesn't flinch.
She hands over the ointment with gentle fingers, her voice honey-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 wandered elsewhere.
To the letters hidden in drawers.
To the documents she'd secretly found in her last life.
To the truth:
Everything they owned was hers.
The house. The business. The family name.
It was her mother's inheritance.
Everything was in Ami's name… until they planned to shift it quietly to her brother.
They thought she'd never know.
They thought she'd always love them too much to question it.
[Not this time.]
Ami looked over at them, all gathered around Alia, doting like she was the sun itself.
She smiled again.
"Don't worry," she said aloud, voice syrupy, "I'll always take care of my family."
And inside, she whispered,
[Until I take back everything that was mine.]