…Mom?" I shouted in horror.

My mother heard me.

She asked me, "What's the matter?"

She can see me.

I'm still alive.

I'm not dead.

I'm not a ghost!

I breathed a sigh of relief and pointed to the photo, asking, "What's going on here?"

"What do you mean? This is you."

"Me?"

"Yes, your funeral picture."

"But I'm still alive."

My mother looked at me meaningfully, and hung the funeral picture in the most conspicuous place in the living room.

I suddenly remembered, my eldest aunt said in the group, today, they attended the funeral of a young girl.

Could this young girl be me?

At that moment, I don't know if it was nervousness or fear, but I felt my mouth dry.

My mother, as soon as she saw the take-out on the table, her face immediately became overcast: "Why is your sister so incompetent? Haven't I told you not to eat take-out, it's not clean or healthy. Don't we have vegetables in the fridge? Why don't you feed your younger brother with that?"

What younger brother?

How come I didn't know I had a younger brother?

When did I agree to raise a younger brother?

I asked, "Whose funeral did you attend?"

"Yours."

"Mine?"

"Yes, yours." My mother looked at me with a righteous look: "You are a woman, a sister, you should understand how to sacrifice for the family. The women in our family have sacrificed everything for the family for generations. Look, me, your aunt, your stepmother, who hasn't sacrificed everything for the family? You will have to sacrifice sooner or later. We love you and that's why we have prepared your funeral. This is our family's recognition of you."