Belated redemption

I died the day I was supposed to receive the Pack's Distinguished Service Award. Three hours later, my family was celebrating my sister's graduation—posting photos and throwing a party. I was locked in the basement, using my tongue to call for help on my phone. Only my mate Ryan answered. He said, “Sophie, cut the drama. Ella's party is important. Enough with the tantrums.” It was the ninety-ninth time they let me down. And the last. I lay in my own blood, lungs still. They thought I was hiding, throwing a fit. But I was home the whole time. I was already dead.