Justice Unleashed

On the day I got diagnosed with late-stage pancreatic cancer, I picked out my own grave.

The tombstone would read, "In the next life, I won't be a Mitchell."

I wouldn't be the despised twin sister. No more biased parents or brother.

I downed a whole cup of herbicide in one gulp and sat quietly in the living room, waiting to die.

Then the cemetery called.

"Sorry, another gentleman bought that plot too. Miss Mitchell, we'll compensate you. Would it be okay if we moved your plot?"

1

A curse nearly slipped out.

I swallowed it back.

I'd heard of people fighting over license plates or inheritances.

But now someone was stealing my grave?

Rage surged. I shot up from the couch.

The herbicide I'd just swallowed gushed out with blood from my mouth.

The searing pain in my stomach left me speechless.

"Miss Mitchell, if you don't object, we'll assume you're okay with it?"

Hell no, I wasn't okay!

Fighting the urge to vomit, I gripped the couch armrest and spoke.

"We signed a contract, right? Two copies."

"Yes," the staff member's voice carried an apology.

"But Mr. Mills signed with another colleague at almost the same time, so..."

"So it's your mistake, isn't it?"

My stomach throbbed. I sank back onto the couch, my voice flat. "Sorry, I refuse."

At home, I was always the ignored one. My twin sister took everything.

Now, on the verge of death, I couldn't even lose my grave, could I?

There was a pause on the line.

Then a deep male voice came through.

"This grave has special meaning to me. Name your price, Miss Mitchell. I can transfer the money anytime."

Trembling with pain, I almost smiled as the herbicide ravaged my stomach.

I whispered, "No amount of money will make me give it up. I need it urgently."

The cemetery staff took the phone back.

Clearly, he favored the high-paying Mr. Mills and wanted to convince me.

"Miss Mitchell, why not think it over? Mr. Mills is very sincere. Money's no issue.

There's still time. You could pick another plot, or we could give you one for free."

I cut him off. "What if I said I need it now?"

Unable to hold back, I spat out another mouthful of blood.

It splattered across the couch, stark and shocking.

They went silent, stunned.

I didn't wait for a reply.

Staring at the bloodstain, I said softly. "I'm killing myself. I just drank a whole bottle of herbicide. I'll be dead soon. Stop fighting me for it. I'll need it shortly.

If that doesn't work, ask your gentleman if he'd be willing to share a grave with me."

2

The line went quiet. I hung up.

After a moment's thought, I decided it'd be best to get cremated and buried that afternoon.

I'd chosen that grave carefully from a fortune teller. It'd ensure my next life was free of the Mitchells, healthy, and happy.

What a perfect spot. I had to secure that prime location.

That meant I just needed someone to handle my body.

After hesitating, I sent a message to the family group chat.

"I'm about to kill myself. Anyone free to come to the old house and deal with my body?"

I didn't mention the cancer. Just that one line, tagging everyone.

Within seconds, someone replied.

My dad sent, "What are you trying to pull now?"

I lowered my head, smiling bitterly.

Once I found someone to handle my body, I'd leave the chat. I wouldn't bother them anymore.

They had another family group anyway.

One without me.

The staff of the cemetery called again.

I picked up. The grave-stealing Mr. Mills spoke in a low voice.

For some reason, his voice sounded oddly familiar. "Miss Mitchell, are you okay?"

Pain radiated from my stomach to my waist, a piercing buzz ringing in my ears.

The group chat stayed silent. No one responded.

I pursed my lips, avoiding the bloody mess, and snapped a photo of the empty herbicide bottle in the corner, sending it to the group.

"I really did it. No lie. Someone's trying to take my grave. I'm out of options. I need to be cremated today. It's urgent.

If anyone's free, come to the old house to handle my body. I promise I'll never show up again, okay?"

Still no replies. Desperate, I considered posting my hospital diagnosis.

My dad and brothers Jacob were all doctors. They'd know it was real.

Then my phone buzzed.

My oldest brother Jacob Mitchell replied, "OK."

3

OK?

To hell with OK!

Did he think this was a work chat?

My fingers twitched, ready to private-message my dad and beg.

Then I remembered. After they kicked me out to the house, my dad deleted me from his contacts in a fit of anger.

I sighed, about to leave the group.

A new message popped up.

Claire sent, "Sorry, Khloe. I shouldn't have suggested going out... We'll visit you when we're back, okay? Dad's busy. Samuel, let's go together later? @Samuel"

Samuel replied, "Visit, my ass. She's just playing the victim. How many times has she tricked us? Khloe, can't you go a day without acting?

Just because we took Claire out and not you, you're throwing a fit like a rabid dog? If you want to die, do it quick. Stop bothering us."

My heart clenched.

I'd always known they hated me, but seeing it still stung.

It hurt worse than the herbicide.

I gave a wretched smile.

I took a selfie and sent my medical records to my second brother Samuel Mitchell privately.

"Not trying to bother you. I'm really dying."

No response.

I laughed at myself. "You knew they didn't want you. Why keep throwing yourself at them? Khloe, are you pathetic?"

Claire and I were twins, fraternal ones.

But she was born frail.

With her looks, just like my mom's, she was the family favorite.

The doctor said it was normal for one twin to be weaker.

But my mom blamed me, saying I stole Claire's nutrients in the womb.

My childhood was filled with neglect and blame.

When Claire got sick, it was my fault for not watching her.

When she fell, it was my fault for not catching her.

Even her bad grades were my fault, for stealing her potential in the womb.

All these years, I tiptoed around, trying to please them.

I wanted them to see me. To smile at me.

To pat my head like they did with Claire.

No matter what I did, they always favored my frail sister Claire.

They saw my efforts as jealousy, as if I was deliberately vying for attention.

The day I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, I vomited blood at home.

They rushed me to the hospital, only to find my stomach was fine.

"Is it fun to trick us, Khloe? You're unbelievable."

"You're so jealous of Claire, you'd even lie about having cancer. Aren't you afraid of bad karma?"

"I'm done with you. Move back to the old house tomorrow. I don't want to hear your lies anymore."

True to their word, they kicked me out the next day.

They never checked on me after that.

Good. I'd already planned to never go back.

I wouldn't "bully" their precious Claire anymore.

I didn't even want that family.

4

My mom wrote, "Khloe, how did you turn out like this? Claire's your sister. Can't you just accept her? I failed as a mother. You're at the old house, right? I'm heading there now."

Samuel sent, "Mom, don't go. The more you worry, the prouder she gets. If you ask me, she might as well jump into the ocean. No one would have to deal with her body. It'd be her one good deed."

My mom hesitated for a moment.

Then another message popped up.

Samuel wrote, "Sometimes I think it'd be better if you were never born. You just ruin our family."

A tearing pain ripped through my chest.

It hadn't hurt this much when I swallowed the herbicide.

I couldn't stop sobbing. The pain was too much.

"Khloe, where are you!"

In a daze, a shout came through the phone.

The voice was deep, commanding.

Maybe because I hadn't responded, Mr. Mills sounded agitated.

"Speak!"

5

My senses snapped back.

I looked at the couch, a crime scene of blood.

Taking a deep breath, I stood with a bitter smile.

"The grave's yours. I don't need it anymore."

6

"Khloe has left the group chat."

7

Once I agreed to give up the grave, the cemetery staff asked me to come sign the contract right away.

Rubbing my aching stomach, I set the meeting at the hospital.

If I died, they could take me straight to the morgue.

No need to trouble the sanitation workers with a body on the street.

I gave myself a mental pat on the back.

Not bad for a civic-minded college girl, protecting the city's appearance even as a corpse.

I didn't expect Mr. Mills to rush from the suburbs to the hospital.

We arrived almost at the same time. That fast?

The cemetery staff wiped his sweat. "When Mr. Mills heard you were attempting suicide, he drove straight to the city. By chance, it was the same direction as the hospital."

I glanced at the man beside me.

He was tall, wearing a trench coat like a straight pine tree.

He looked oddly familiar.

"Just got here?" Mr. Mills asked, slightly out of breath. "Come on, I'll take you to see a doctor..."

Before he finished, a nurse called from the hallway. "Number 244, Khloe Mitchell, to the examination room."

He stared at me, shocked. "You're still queuing for a doctor at a time like this?"

I nodded blankly. "Yeah, what else?"

I was going to die anyway. No need to waste medical resources.

"Khloe, is that really you?"

A cold male voice came from behind.

I turned to see Jacob, who'd mentioned a medical exchange program.

The city's youngest deputy chief physician.

So this was the hospital he meant.

Jacob clearly hadn't expected the nurse to call my name.

He walked toward me, frowning, his eyes filled with reproach and distance.

I noticed his phone screen was open to the family group chat.

As expected, he stopped in front of me, his gaze dripping with disapproval. "You knew I was here for the exchange program and came to make a scene?"

He snatched my appointment slip, glanced at it, and scoffed. "Gastroenterology again? Last time wasn't enough? Khloe, your family's patience has limits."

8

The Mitchells had three doctors, my dad, Jacob, and Samuel.

Jacob went abroad to study early, and with our age gap, he was mostly distant and cold toward me.

His words didn't stir much in me.

At most, I found them a bit funny.

I was the one dying. What were they enduring?

Mr. Mills couldn't stand me wasting time.

He grabbed the appointment slip and pulled me by the wrist into the examination room. "Doctor, hurry and check her. No more delays."

Then he glanced at the door. "Unrelated people, you're not leaving?"

Jacob's face darkened, clearly angry.

He shot a look inside, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "This act of yours might fool Claire. She's worried sick, crying and begging Mom and Dad to come back. You ruin our family's peace, and that makes you happy?"

He glanced at the doctor's chart and turned to leave.

As if he expected me to follow, like always.

Then the doctor looked at the chart and said in surprise.

"A whole bottle of herbicide? And pancreatic cancer? No, you need to get your stomach pumped immediately. This can't wait."

The room fell deathly silent. Mr. Mills's hands, pressing mine, tightened sharply.

Jacob stopped in his tracks at the door.

He turned to look at me.

His eyes held disdain, mockery, but no trace of concern.

"Herbicide and pancreatic cancer, and you're still alive? Khloe, can't you make your lies less ridiculous? If you overplay your hand, you'll have to die to keep up the act."

My pupils shrank slightly.

I nodded with a bitter smile. "Got it. I'll die right now."

9

Jacob pressed his temple with his hand.

His tone dripped with disgust. "I've been working night shifts. I don't have time for your drama. Khloe, can't you give the family a break?"

After starting his career, Jacob grew busier, often pulling all-nighters and eating irregularly.

I used to quietly care for him, always eager to please.

In the past, a single frown from him would send me asking if he felt unwell.

I'd rush to get him medicine.

But now, I was exhausted. I had no energy for that anymore.

So I said flatly, "No need to stay. Goodbye."

Jacob froze, his eyes flashing with confusion and uncertainty.

Then anger took over.

"You think I want to be here? Khloe, if you're so capable, don't ever come home. Stay out of my sight forever."

I smiled. "Fine. I'll keep my word."

"Bullshit." Out of nowhere, Mr. Mills, standing behind me, cursed.

He straightened up, stepping in front of me to face Jacob.

His expression was icy, his gaze hostile. "Get lost."

10

While I got my stomach pumped, Christopher Mills stayed by my side.

I realized he was my childhood rival.

He went abroad after middle school, and we hadn't seen each other since.

I never expected to meet again like this.

He didn't speak, just watched me go in with a heavy gaze and come out pale.

Thanks to the cemetery's mix-up, I vomited most of the herbicide. That's why I was still alive and kicking.

When the doctor checked my chart, I nodded to Christopher. "Did you bring the transfer contract? I'll sign it now."

He'd gone out of his way to help me. I'd feel guilty keeping the grave.

But Christopher didn't respond. He just studied my face, his eyes deep. "Didn't you say you needed it right away? Why agree now?"

This guy. I was giving him the perfect grave, and he still had so many questions.

What was there to ask?

I wanted to brush it off with a laugh, but his serious gaze told me I couldn't.

So I sighed. "My brother Samuel said suicide's better than a sea burial. No one has to deal with the body. I thought it made sense, so..."

The doctor, stunned by our bizarre conversation, gripped my chart so hard he nearly tore it.

He glanced at my details, paused, then said softly. "You're only twenty. Have you considered chemotherapy? If it goes well, it could extend your life by five to ten years."

I waved him off. "Nah, no need for the hassle. I've lived enough."

I took my chart and headed out.

I noticed the cemetery agent standing at the door, looking uneasy.

He hadn't even brought his bag.

"Where's the transfer contract?"

Christopher paused.

He pursed his lips, his face dark as he looked at me.

"Khloe, let's share the grave."

11

My vision blurred.

I didn't know if it was from Christopher's words or low blood sugar from the stomach pumping.

I stood there for a few seconds before reacting. "What did you say?"

Christopher chuckled lightly. "You asked if I'd share the grave. I thought about it. Sounds good. I don't have family either.

We'd be buried together. When your family brings offerings, I'd get some too. I think it's a solid plan."

He looked up, noticing my widening mouth and dazed eyes.

Christopher grinned. "I won't freeload. I'll handle your body. Deal?"

I stepped back.

I put a hand over my racing heart.

I had to admit, I was a little tempted.

"But you might be disappointed. My family won't visit my grave. You saw. They probably won't come even once."

"No problem," Christopher shrugged. "It's nice to have company. Someone to talk to down there."

He leaned closer to me.

His expression was nothing like Jacob's.

It was almost intensely focused.

"If you have someone else in mind, you can..."

"Deal!"

12

I picked the city's most beautiful moonlight beach.

There were even glowing blue waves. Stunning.

Perfect. I was thrilled with my choice of suicide spot.

A woman's got to die beautifully.

I took a few steps into the sea.

But Christopher spoke up. "If you die now, the waves are too strong. I can't retrieve your body. Wait till morning. We can watch the sunrise together."

I stopped.

This guy was getting annoying.

He was ruining my calm march toward death.

What could I do? I'd indulge him.

He was the one handling my body, after all.

I turned back and lay on the beach, feeling sleepy.

Christopher went to rent a tent.

I thought it was pointless. I only had a few hours left.

Suddenly, my phone rang.

A video call from Samuel.

Besides Jacob, the whole Mitchell family was at the old house.

Claire sat in the center, clearly the cherished one.

"Khloe, are you out of your mind?" Samuel's tone was impatient, his gaze full of disgust and anger. "Making us rush back to see you, and you're not even here? Is it fun to toy with us? Claire was so worried she didn't eat all day. Get back here."

My mom, sitting next to Claire, sighed wearily. "We all came to see you. Stop making a fuss and come home."

My dad even snorted. "I skipped a hospital seminar to come here and bring you back. Still not satisfied?"

I saw the pile of food in front of Claire and let out a soft laugh.

Then it hit me. Even if I died now, Christopher could handle my body tomorrow.

At worst, it'd be a bit bloated.

Why was I waiting for him?

I pursed my lips in frustration and walked resolutely toward the sea.

The night wind howled, chilling my chest.

"Not going home. I'm in the middle of dying."

A noise came from the entrance. Jacob was back from his shift.

He glanced at everyone in the dining room, set down his coat, loosened his tie, and headed to my upstairs bedroom.

"Another late shift. Has Khloe come back? She's not still throwing a tantrum, is she?"

Casually, Jacob went upstairs.

Then he saw the blood covering the living room.

My blood.

His expression changed instantly. "Where is she?"

Hearing his voice, the family rushed upstairs.

When they saw the shocking bloodstains on the couch, they froze in horror.

Jacob hurried over to inspect the blood.

He shook the empty herbicide bottle, his body trembling with shock.

Panic and confusion surged in his eyes. "She was telling the truth. She really tried to kill herself..."