The Birthday Contract With Death

On the eve of my eighteenth birthday, my mother skipped the final rehearsal for my party. That evening, a text lit up my screen. "Daisy’s depression is flaring up again.

I can't leave her side right now. Let’s postpone your party, Cassie. I’ll make it up to you, I promise." I stared at the tips of my fingers.

They were already beginning to shimmer, dissolving into a faint, translucent glow.

I typed a singleword reply: "Okay." For ten years, on every single one of my birthdays, Mom had broken her promise.

Almost instantly, my adoptive sister, Daisy, posted on Instagram. The photo showed her and Mom watching the sunrise on a beach in Montauk, holding matching ice cream cones.

The caption read: "The best mom in the entire world.

She said I needed to clear my head, and she’s giving me all her love." In the comments, our relatives flooded the post with praise, calling Mom a saint, gushing about how Daisy finally deserved some happiness.

Not a single person remembered that today was my birthday, too. More importantly, it was the final day of my contract with the Reaper.

If Mom didn't spend this birthday with me, I would fade into nothingness. Forever. … "Cassie, I am so sorry about today.

Daisy’s situation is critical." Hours later, the front door burst open. Mom rushed in, disheveled and smelling of rain, her hair damp and plastered to her forehead.

She looked completely exhausted. I was sitting on the sofa. Hearing her voice, I stood up immediately. She hurried over and stroked my hair. "Next month.

I promise we’ll throw you the biggest party next month. And that diamond starlight necklace you've been eyeing? I’ll buy it for you.

Anything you want, Cassie." Her voice was soft, laced with that practiced, soothing tone. Once, a promise like that would have made me beam.

I would have nodded obediently, swallowing my disappointment to accommodate her. But now... I looked down at my hands.

My fingers were almost entirely transparent, the dim light of my soul flickering like a candle in a draft.

In the corner of the room, the Reaper's hourglass—visible only to me—was dropping its final grains of golden sand.

I didn't have a next month. "No!" I shook my head violently, grabbing her sleeve. "Mom, please. It has to be today.

It has to be tonight!" I looked up at her, begging with every ounce of strength left in my fading body. "I don't need a party. I don't want the necklace. Just stay.

Stay and eat a cupcake with me. Just one. Please." Mom glanced at her watch, her brow furrowing instantly. The softness in her eyes vanished, replaced by a sharp, anxious edge.

She thought I was acting out. She thought this was petty jealousy. "Cassie, stop it! Be reasonable!" she snapped, trying to pry my fingers off her sleeve. "Your sister is suicidal.

Her clinical depression is spiraling, and the doctor says she's in real danger.

I have to go to her." "She's not going to die!" Terror clawed at my throat, making my voice shrill and desperate. I was losing control, slipping into a frantic, obsessive panic.

Instead of letting go, I slid off the couch, dropping to my knees right in front of the door. "She'll never die, but I will.

Mom, if you walk out that door tonight, you will never—ever—see me again." Shock flickered across her face, followed by disbelief, and finally, a cold, hardening anger.

Right then, her phone buzzed. "Daisy's Doctor" flashed across the screen. Mom's patience snapped completely. With a hard, furious jerk, she yanked herself away.

I lost my balance and crashed onto the hardwood floor, my elbow slamming hard against the wood. "Cassie Mercer, enough!" she yelled, her voice trembling with rage. "Do you have any idea how insane you sound right now?

Like a spoiled, selfish child!" "Your sister is fighting for her life in a hospital ward, and you’re throwing a tantrum over a birthday? I raised you better than this.

I am so deeply disappointed in you." She didn't look back.

She threw the door open and bolted out. "I’ll deal with you tomorrow!" The heavy oak door slammed shut, slicing the world in two. I lay there on the cold floor.

A metallic taste bloomed in my throat, and I coughed, spitting a splash of blood onto the wood. The blood shimmered with tiny, fading specks of starlight.

With a trembling hand, I reached up to the coffee table and grabbed the small cupcake. I ate it, forcing it down past the copper tang of blood in my mouth.

Tear after tear spilled over my cheeks. "Mom, this cake is so bitter." Four hours until midnight.

Half of my torso had already faded into transparency; I could see the outline of the sofa right through my chest.

Waves of agonizing pain ripped through my soul, tearing me apart from the inside out.

Beside me, the Reaper stood draped in his heavy black cloak, watching in silence. "Why do you torture yourself?" he murmured, his voice like dry leaves. "You have tried for ten years, and not once has she chosen you.

Did you truly believe tonight would be any different?" I shook violently, tears pooling on the floor beneath my cheek. "Please... just a little more time. She was just panicked.

She didn't mean to abandon me." Looking into my stubborn, pleading eyes, the Reaper's cold demeanor softened, offering a rare sliver of pity.

He closed his eyes and waved his hand. "Foolish child," he sighed. "Very well.

If you can get her to look at you and sincerely say 'Happy Birthday' before the clock strikes midnight, I will let you win.

You may stay in the mortal realm." Hope flared in my chest. I scrambled for my phone, my fingers slipping on the glass as I hit her FaceTime contact.

It rang for what felt like an eternity. Just as it was about to time out, the screen flickered, and Mom’s face appeared.

She was sitting in a hospital room, the sterile white wall behind her framing the exhaustion etched deep into her face.

Seeing how pale I was, her brows knit together, her voice dropping into a softer, slightly apologetic register. "Cassie, why do you look so pale?

Have you not been eating?" There was a faint note of guilt under her words. "Don't be mad. I shouldn't have yelled at you. Just be a good girl and get some sleep.

I'll be home in a few days, and we'll go get that necklace, okay?" I shook my head weakly, forcing my voice past the lump in my throat. "Mom, I don't care about the necklace." I looked straight into her eyes through the screen, begging with everything I had. "Can you just... look at me and say 'Happy Birthday'?

Just once. That's all I need." Mom froze, her lips parting to speak. But before she could make a sound, Daisy stirred on the bed behind her, slowly opening her eyes.

Without saying a word, Daisy reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

It was a seemingly casual movement, but it exposed the distinct, butterflyshaped red birthmark behind her ear—the exact same birthmark my late father had.

The sight of it pierced Mom’s heart like a physical blade. Instantly, as if triggered by some internal panic, Daisy violently ripped the IV line from the back of her hand.

Dark blood began to pool and drip onto the white sheets. "No!" Daisy shrieked, thrashing about. "Is Cassie mad at me? She hates me because I took you away! It's all my fault!

I shouldn't be alive. I should have died in that accident instead of Dad! Just let me die!" "Daisy!" Mom's voice cracked with absolute terror.

She dropped the phone onto the pillows, turning her back on me to throw her arms around the hysterical girl.

The camera spun, landing faceup, capturing only the ceiling and the frantic, jerky shadows of the room.

Through the speaker, I could hear Daisy’s ragged, choking gasps and Mom’s desperate, tearful pleading. "Daisy, look at me. Mommy's here. I'm right here.

It's not your fault, sweetie. It's not your fault. I love you. You're the only one I need." Watching my limbs grow fainter, dissolving into mist, I screamed into the phone. "Mom!

Look at me! Just look at the screen! Say happy birthday to me first! Please, just say it!

Say it now!" My voice, warped by madness and terror, echoed loudly through the hospital speaker. The noise triggered Daisy again.

Through the erratic frame, I saw her eyes roll back. Her body began to seize violently, slipping toward unconsciousness. "Cassie!" In a panic, Mom grabbed the phone.

She glared into the camera, her face—the face I loved more than anything—contorted with pure rage and disgust. "Are you trying to kill her?

Will you not rest until you've ruined everything for everyone? We are done. I'll deal with you tomorrow." The call disconnected.

The screen went black, plunging the room back into a suffocating, freezing silence. My vision was beginning to blur, but my eyes drifted to the dustcovered frame on the console.

It was our family photo, taken ten years ago, just before the crash. My father, my mother, and me.

Looking at my mother’s radiant, tender smile in that photo, a fierce, desperate wave of grief surged from the depths of my soul. "She used to say I was her whole world." I didn't have a tomorrow.

If I wanted a today, I had to go find it myself. Dragging my nearly immaterial body, I used the last two percent of my phone battery to call an Uber.

It was a thirtymile drive through a torrential downpour. Rain lashed against the passenger window like gravel. Inside, my body felt like shattering glass.

Every bump in the road tore at the seams of my soul, pulling me apart.

The driver kept glancing at me through the rearview mirror, his brow furrowed with concern. "Miss, are you okay? Your face... you look pale as a ghost.

Do you want me to pull over at an ER?" I shook my head, my voice barely a whisper. "No, thank you. Please, just go faster.

I'm running out of time." "I am running to say goodbye to my mother." The car finally pulled up to the grand entrance of the luxury beachfront resort in Montauk.

I paid, opened the door, and plunged headfirst into the freezing rain. The downpour soaked through my clothes in seconds, freezing them to my skin.

I stumbled through the lobby, ignoring the horrified stares of the receptionists, and headed straight toward Mom's private suite.

Through the massive floortoceiling glass windows of the resort restaurant, I saw the warm, golden light inside. And there, bathed in that warmth, was my mother.

She was sitting on a plush banquette, a strained but loving smile on her face, slicing a towering, threetiered strawberry cream cake for Daisy.

Sugar was always the easiest cure for Daisy's dark moods. And there I stood, drenched and shivering in the dark, looking in on a world of sweetness that had no room for me.

The heavy glass door creaked open as I pushed my way inside. Every head in the restaurant turned toward me.

When Mom turned and saw me, shock washed over her face, quickly followed by a flash of panic and maternal worry. "Cassie?" she gasped, standing up so fast her chair scraped against the tile. "How did you get here?

In this storm? Are you insane?" She rushed toward me, unbuttoning her trench coat to wrap around my shivering frame. "Someone get a towel, quickly!

She's freezing!" I didn't take the coat. Instead, I grabbed her wrists with whatever physical strength I had left. "Mom..." I whispered, my voice cracked and desperate. "Please.

Just say 'Happy Birthday.' Tell me now. Please." Mom froze. She stared at my dripping face, her forehead tightening.

The worry in her eyes turned into sheer exhaustion and disbelief. "Cassie, has the fever gotten to your head?

Is this really what we're doing right now?" She tried to pull her hands free. "Go dry off. Stop being so stubborn." She thought this was a game.

She thought I had dragged myself through a storm just to win a petty argument, to force a meaningless phrase out of her mouth.

Behind her, Daisy set her cake knife down on the table, her eyes wide and watery. "Cassie, please don't fight with Mom," Daisy whimpered, her voice trembling as she shrank back. "I had to take so many shots today.

Can we just have a quiet night?" "You can always have a birthday party next year. It's just one night." "Next year?" Every single year, she had stolen it from me.

And now, I didn't have a next year. On the dining room wall, a massive mahogany clock ticked away, loud as a heartbeat.

Daisy's whining, Mom's cold hesitation—it snapped the final, frayed cord holding my sanity together. I ripped my hands away from Mom and lunged toward the table.

Before Daisy could scream, I grabbed the bottom of the threetiered cake stand and flipped it with all my might. "Crash." The towering cake slammed onto the floor, strawberries, white cream, and shattered ceramic splattering across the pristine tile. "This was my birthday!

My eighteenth birthday!" I screamed, the tears finally bursting free. "It was my life!" I pointed at the ruined cake, at the ticking clock, and then at Daisy, who was cowering behind Mom. "Mom, you promised!

You promised that if I survived, you would spend every single birthday with me! Did you forget?

Did you forget what you said?!" I laughed, a horrible, broken sound that dissolved into a sob. I was screaming like a madwoman, spinning out of control.

Daisy curled into a tight ball on the banquette, pressing her hands over her ears, weeping hysterically.

Mom stared at the ruined cake, then at Daisy, and finally at me. "Cassie, get a hold of yourself!" Mom yelled, stepping forward to grab my arms.

I tried to pull back, but she caught my wrist, her grip like iron. "Slap." Her hand connected with my cheek. The sharp, cracking sound echoed through the high ceilings.

The entire restaurant fell deathly quiet. The blow didn't hurt. Truly, it didn't feel like anything at all. I didn't cry out, nor did I reach up to touch my burning cheek.

I simply lifted my eyes to the mahogany clock on the wall. The minute hand pointed to 11:58. The second hand was marching toward the end.

I looked at Mom, whose face was twisted in a mixture of rage, regret, and shock. I offered her a soft, hollow smile. "Mom, it's too late. It's all too late." 11:58 PM.

The ticking of the clock grew deafening. "Tick. Tick. Tick." Each strike sounded like a funeral knell. I collapsed onto the cold tile, the last of my energy drained.

My breathing grew shallow, my physical form fading so fast I could barely feel the floor beneath me.

I forced my hand upward, pointing a trembling finger at my mother, who was staring down at me with sudden, terrifying comprehension starting to dawn in her eyes. "Ten years ago... in that car crash... you were supposed to die," I whispered, my voice faint as a dream. "I begged the Reaper.

I traded my life for yours. The only condition... was that you had to spend my birthdays with me. But you never did... not even once." Mom listened to my wild, impossible story.

The shock on her face curdled into confusion, and then into a hard, defensive frustration.

She thought I was making it up—a desperate, manipulative fantasy to win her back. "Cassie, that is sick," she whispered, her voice shaking. "How can you play games with that crash?

You know what we lost that day. You know what it did to me..." "I am so incredibly disappointed in you.

To invent a ghost story just to hurt me?" The last traces of her guilt vanished, hardened over by cold, impenetrable disgust. She was right.

After the crash, I thought I had only lost my father.

But the truth was, I had lost my mother, too. "Security!" Mom turned toward the lobby, shouting over the quiet hum of the restaurant. "She’s hysterical.

Take her up to the holding room on the third floor. Lock her in. She needs to spend the night calming down, and no one is to let her out." Two burly security guards hurried in.

Taking in the shattered cake and my drenched, trembling frame, and seeing the absolute authority in my mother's face, they didn't ask questions.

They grabbed me under my arms and began dragging me away. 11:59 PM. I didn't have the strength to struggle.

My feet scraped uselessly against the floor as they dragged me down the hallway. My vision was dimming, turning into a fuzzy gray.

In the last fading frame of my sight, I saw my mother turn back, bending down with that beautiful, protective tenderness, and folding Daisy into her arms.

The grandfather clock in the lobby began to chime. Midnight.

Out of the darkness, a figure in a heavy black cloak materialized beside me. "Time to go, child." With a violent, painless wrench, my soul was pulled free from my body.

In that exact instant, the screen of the phone in my pocket lit up with a text message from Mom: "Think about what you've done tonight.

If you can't see how selfish you are, don't bother calling me Mom again."