When The Dead Speak: Sarah's Journal

I hovered, a restless spirit, above the opulent ballroom of the Fairmont Copley Plaza.

This grand wedding, shimmering with laughter and clinking champagne flutes, celebrated Ethan Astor and Olivia Miller.

It should have been my wedding to Ethan.

But I was dead, reduced to a convenient scandal weeks ago, my tragic "overdose" a footnote in their perfect lives.

Below, society whispered, calling me "difficult" and "ungrateful," while my adoptive parents, the Millers, who once tossed my few possessions like trash, warmly embraced their "true" daughter.