They Sent Me To Prison For Her, I Bought A Grave For Me Chapter 01

They Sent Me To Prison For Her, I Bought A Grave For Me Chapter 01

The daughter my family had raised got drunk, took her car racing through the streets, and killed someone.

She cried and said she was scared.

Without a second thought, my brother made me take the fall for her. My fiancé—a prominent attorney—lied under oath and identified me as the driver.

Three years in prison nearly destroyed me.

The other inmates shattered my right hand, and the endless abuse left my stomach cancer undiagnosed until it was terminal.

“Inmate 033, stay out of trouble. Make sure you don’t end up back here,” the corrections officer said as he signed my release papers.

I never returned to the Wexley estate.

I disappeared under a new name and moved hundreds of miles away to Greyfen, where I found work as a caretaker at Larkmeadow Memorial Park.

I even purchased my own burial plot and commissioned a headstone.

Plot 33.

Just a coincidence.

Then, on a rainy morning in early spring, a man holding a black umbrella stopped outside the cemetery administration office.

“Has anyone ever visited the owner of Plot 33?”

The pen in my left hand froze against the visitor log.

—

Hearing that voice again felt like being dragged into another life.

Rain tapped steadily against the windows. I kept my head down and answered calmly.

“She has no family.”

Crispin went still. Then he gave a sharp, humorless laugh.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for you, Mirelle? How could you just disappear without a word?”

I finally looked up.

Years had passed, but my brother still looked untouchable in his custom-tailored suit—polished, handsome, and effortlessly commanding.

Illness had reduced me to skin and bone.

His eyes slowly reddened as he stared at me. I almost laughed.

“What did Jessa do this time?” I asked. “Do you need me to take the fall for her again?”

“Mirelle!”

Guilt flickered across Crispin’s face, gone almost as soon as it appeared.

“Jessa’s always been fragile. You just spent a few years in prison for her. Are you seriously still holding on to that?”

His words were as cruel as ever.

Just like they had been three years ago, when he personally turned me over to the police.

“Jessa can’t survive prison. You’re her sister. What’s wrong with serving a few years in her place?”

The memory faded, and I forced a thin smile.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m still holding on to it.”

Crispin stared at me as if I had said something impossible.

“Stop being dramatic. Come back to Kingsmere.”

He seized my wrist and dragged me out of the office before I could resist.

“Let go of me!”

I fought against him, but the sudden panic stole the air from my lungs. My chest tightened, and I could barely breathe.

Crispin finally stopped and took a proper look at me.

“What’s wrong with you?”

The brief panic in his eyes was almost funny.

“You want to prove you care?” I tore my wrist free and forced my voice to remain steady. “Then give me back the truth.”

I looked straight at him.

“Tell everyone what really happened.”

“You want to destroy Jessa?”

There it was.

Crispin was now one of the most famous journalists in the country, with millions of followers hanging on his every word. Yet he still refused to clear the name of his own biological sister.

If Crispin knew my right hand was ruined, he might have been relieved. Jessa would never have to compete with me again.

Every award I won ended with her in tears and the entire family comforting her.

I hated that the thought could still hurt me.

“Then why did you come looking for me?”

I truly didn’t understand.

My voice trembled despite my best efforts.

“Mirelle, you only spent three years in prison for Jessa. It didn’t ruin your life.”

Crispin sighed as though I were the unreasonable one.

“I can support you for the rest of your life. That’s still better than wasting away in a cemetery. Stop being so ungrateful.”

He shoved me into his car and shut the door.

“Where do you live?”

I no longer had the strength to fight him. I gave him the address in a flat voice.

The car eventually stopped outside a run-down walk-up in East Greyfen.

The rent was cheap because the building was falling apart. There were not even working streetlights outside.

Crispin followed me upstairs, but his pace slowed as he took in the cracked walls and dim hallway.

A neighbor spotted me on the landing and smiled.

“Ms. Fallow, you’re home early today.”

Mrs. Moss’s gaze shifted curiously to the man behind me.

Before I could respond, Crispin grabbed my arm.

“Fallow?” His expression darkened. “You changed your name?”