Mom had finished washing the dishes.
She did not sit idle.
With a rag in hand, she went into my room.
I remembered that every time she went into my room, she would complain that I never tidied up, and I would act cute and tell her I was tired.
I followed her over without thinking.
I wanted to hear her nagging.
But the moment she opened the door, I saw my black-and-white portrait inside the room.
In it, I wore a gentle smile.
Right. I was dead.
I wanted to protest. Just because I was dead did not mean they had to use this photo of me.
I had never been gentle before. Like any ordinary girl, I had always been carefree and boisterous.
This gentle photo had been taken when Mom dragged me to a photography studio to introduce me to potential matches.
She had insisted that I smile like that, saying more boys would like me that way.
In the end, she had not introduced me to anyone, yet the photo had somehow ended up as my memorial portrait. "Lili!"
I heard Mom calling me, but when I looked closer, she was calling to my photo...
Extra: Peace of Mind!!
I wanted to remind Mom that I was here, but she could not see me.
She kept crying and crying.
Her crying made me want to cry too.
In the end, Dad came in and cried with her.
I hugged them. Though all I could do was float between them and loosely wrap my arms around them, my wandering heart suddenly found peace.
"Stop crying."
"Don't cry, don't cry."
"Polly, stop crying, stop crying!"
Someone was calling me.
I thought I was still with Mom and Dad.
But then I suddenly woke up.
I realized I was