On the way to the station, my brother muttered, "Impossible! The test must be wrong! It can't be her!"
"She's just hiding to punish me! How could she be dead?!"
At the precinct, Uncle Henry hurried over to intercept him, his face etched with sorrow and pity.

"I'm so sorry."
As if my brother would be sad. He'd probably be glad I was gone.
But he shoved Uncle Henry aside, rushed to the examination table, and denied it.
"No!"
"It can't be Lily!"
"You're all incompetent! How could the DNA be wrong? Do you even deserve your jobs?!"

Mike glared, his own eyes red-rimmed but his gaze cold and unforgiving.
"Didn't you always say you wished she'd die? Now she's gone—why the act?"
Yes, I was dead.
His performance was for show—to avoid judgment.

But I saw his tear.
He reached out, his hand trembling as he touched the pieced-together remains—the same remains he had assembled with his own hands.
"Lily, how did this happen? Get up!"
He'd only cried like this at dad's funeral.
But this… this was a deeper, more profound despair.
Those present were visibly moved. Yet, like Mike, called him a hypocrite.
I didn't understand—why would he cry?
His sobs gradually subsided into ragged breaths, his voice dropping to an unnervingly gentle whisper.
"Stop playing around. Get up, please?"
"Lily, I'll apologize any way you want. Just come back!"
Eventually, he collapsed and was rushed to the hospital.
When he woke, his eyes were vacant, fixed on the sterile white ceiling, and repeated my name.
Anna came to see him, but he ignored her.
Even angry, he'd never treated her like this.
"Lily, I was wrong."
"I should've come home to you."
It reminded me.
The day before I died was my eighteenth birthday.
He'd texted, saying he'd celebrate with me.
Though I hated him for mom's death, her last words to me were to reconcile with my brother.
I couldn't forgive, but I wanted to keep my promise.
I agreed—but he said he'd bring Anna.
Standing there before our mother's portrait, I lost it. I screamed at him over the phone.
He called me unstable, childish, even accused me of blaming Anna.
In the end, it was just me and Mom's memory in heaven celebrating my birthday.
Mike visited him in the hospital, bringing the case file.
"You should've realized earlier it wasn't Lily's fault."
"John, we're the police—do you think we'd close a case without evidence?!"
"Anna's dad wasn't framed! Your mom and Lily had nothing to do with it! You always took Anna's side!"
My brother flipped through the file, his legs giving way as the truth finally crashed down on him.
He whispered, "I should've known! How could Anna's dad be innocent? How...?"
Mike shook his head in utter disappointment and left.
"You'll never forgive yourself for what you did to Lily and your mom."
When his phone rang, my brother remembered something—checking the call log.
Seeing my SOS with the location, he broke completely.
"Lily! Were you waiting for me to save you? Answer me!"
Only silence replied.
He sobbed, "Lily, I'm guilty! I killed you!"
"I was angry—I didn't mean it! I never wanted you to die!"
"Come back! I'll make it up to mom however you want!"
I felt only bitterness.
He'd always been stubborn. Even when he was wrong, he'd never admit it, he'd wait for us to yield.
He regretted mom's death but still blamed her for the fate of Anna's dad.
Only tragedy made him see his errors.
He stayed like that, a hollow shell, for a week.
Uncle Henry and Mike arranged my funeral.
Then Anna called, saying her heart was hurting.