My Fiancé Married My Long Lost Sister on Our Wedding Day Chapter 13

My Fiancé Married My Long Lost Sister on Our Wedding Day Chapter 13

Wendy arranged my funeral. She buried me beside Grandma’s grave. The house wasn’t taken. The court ruled the transfer agreement was made under duress–the house remained mine. As I’d willed it after my diagnosis, it was sold and the money donated to a patient relief fund.

After their sentences, none of them ever found their way back. Mom and Dad sold the house to pay. for my funeral and damages. Their relatives saw the trial records and cut them off.

Every year in early spring, when the weather turned warm and the grass began to green, they’d sit at my grave all day. Mom would kneel with the honey cake I’d loved as a child. “Open your eyes and look at me.” No answer. The cake would soak through with rain, but she never took it away.

Dad always stood a few steps back. He couldn’t come closer. He just kept repeating, “Dad shouldn’t have made you sign that. The house was yours.”

Later, he had a stroke. Mom stayed by his hospital bed, calling my brother over and over, but no one answered. She finally understood what it felt like to reach for help and get nothing.

Dad died. Mom spent her last years with my photo. She passed in her sleep, calling my name.

My brother didn’t go to the funeral. Out of prison, he drank himself into a stupor; his wife left with their child. The once–proud brother ended up in that basement Dad had picked for me–peeling walls, no heat. Drunk, he’d call into the empty room: “Lena, I’ll carry you to the hospital.”

He’d never carry that feverish little sister again–the one who used to cling to his back and whine for attention. One winter night, he fell and couldn’t reach his phone, six feet away. The neighbors

found him cold.

Ethan was the last to go. He didn’t remarry, didn’t go back to the old city. Every month, he sent Wendy a letter with one memory of me. First hand–holding–my palm drenched with sweat. First move–me covering the moldy walls with sunflowers. When his business failed, I’d sold my jewelry to pay his rent.

Seven years weren’t all lies. But because that tenderness was real, the betrayal was even crueler.

Wendy returned every letter unopened. He burned them at my grave. “I finally understand–you didn’t need me. I needed the way you loved me.”

When he got sick, he refused the risky surgery. Not to atone. Not to follow. He’d just lost the will to live. On his last day, he asked the nurse to put my plain ring by his bed. When his fingers touched it, the monitor flatlined.

A light rain began to fall over the cemetery. Wendy shredded his last letter in the rain. As the scraps fell, Sophie’s wails echoed from somewhere in the distance.