Part 2My Mother Fired My Corpse

8:00 PM.

The project went live exactly on schedule, just hours after my body was moved to the morgue. The data was clean, the servers were humming—the result of my seven days of sleeplessness. Zero bugs.

To celebrate, Katherine took the entire senior team to an upscale steakhouse downtown. The private room is glowing with warm light, the smell of expensive Cabernet and aged ribeye filling the air.

“A toast to Katherine!” Robert, the assistant manager, raises his glass. “The launch was flawless. Your direction in the final stretch was masterclass.”

Katherine, looking sharp in her charcoal blazer, her cheeks slightly flushed from the wine, smiles and waves him off. “It was a team effort. Mostly.” She takes a sip. “Unlike some people who flake when the pressure gets real. I had to monitor the final nodes myself.”

The table erupts in polite, knowing chuckles.

“Cassie’s always been a bit… coddled,” Robert adds, eager to please. “She seemed reliable, but I guess she just lacks that grit. You’re doing her a favor by being tough, Katherine. She’ll thank you one day.”

“If she has the brains to understand it,” Katherine says, setting her glass down with a sharp thud. “Young people today… they have no stamina. Physical or mental. When I was pregnant with her, I was on job sites in the middle of July. I didn't take a single day off. She catches a cold and thinks the world owes her a sabbatical.”

I’m perched on the chandelier, looking down at her.

Mom, you were tough. I know. But you forgot that I inherited your stubbornness. If I hadn't been fading into a blur of gray pain, do you really think I would have let myself fall before the finish line?

Suddenly, her phone vibrates in her Chanel bag. She pulls it out, glancing at the screen. It’s a local landline.

Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe she just wants to show off how "on call" she is, but she hits speaker and drops the phone on the white tablecloth.

“Katherine Bishop,” she says regally.

“Hello, is this the next of kin for Cassandra Bishop? This is the administrator at the County Morgue…”

Katherine freezes for a split second, then lets out a harsh, mocking laugh.

“The morgue? Really? Is that the best you can do? Scammers are getting creative these days, using death threats to get a call back.”

The voice on the other end hesitates. “Ma’am, I’m serious. The deceased was brought in this afternoon at—”

“Enough!” Katherine barks. “My daughter is hiding at home pretending to be sick. If she thinks she can use a prank call to make me back down, tell her it’s not working. In fact, tell her she’s fired.”

She hangs up and immediately blocks the number.

“Disgusting,” she says, draining her glass in one go. “The girl is becoming unhinged. Hiring someone to play a coroner just to scare me? It’s pathetic.”

“Unbelievable,” a colleague chimes in. “That’s a new low. Don’t let it ruin the night, Katherine. You’ve earned this.”

The room settles back into its rhythm of clinking silverware and laughter. They talk about bonuses and Q4 projections while eating lobster tail and drinking fifty-dollar pours of bourbon.

And my body is lying in a steel drawer, waiting for a mother who isn't coming.

As the dinner ends, Katherine looks at the leftover risotto on her plate. On her way out, she spots a stray dog near the valet stand. She tips the container of expensive food into the dirt for the dog.

“Go on,” she says, patting the dog’s head with a rare, soft smile. “At least a dog knows how to show a little gratitude. Sometimes, children aren't worth the investment.”