When my perfect sister took my husband while I was pregnant, I was crushed. She always thought she was better than me, and she finally got what she wanted. However, life has a way of turning things around.
When everything came apart for her, she appeared at my door, pleading for assistance.
My entire life had been in second place.
No matter how hard I tried, it wasn’t enough for my parents. I took home highlights, kept my room clean, and did everything I could to make them proud.
But none of this mattered. Stacy, my younger sister, was his shining star. While I silently excelled in school and completed chores without being asked, Stacy set records in swimming contests.
My parents pampered her like a celebrity, focusing every free time on her accomplishment. I felt invisible. My grandmother was the only person who actually saw me.
He frequently took me to his house, where I felt a warmth and love that I never experienced in my own. In many ways, she raised me. I spent weekends and summers with her, learning to cook, watching old movies, and feeling like it all mattered.
When I finished high school, my parents didn’t even pretend to care. They kicked me out and told me I was now alone. After receiving a scholarship, my grandmother assisted me in relocating to my new university housing.
That scholarship was my sole escape route. When I became 18, I refused to receive any more money from her. He’d already done enough for me.
When I acquired a decent job after graduation, I was happy to be able to give it back to him. I’m married to Henry now. My grandmother never liked it.
He always claimed that there was something unusual about him, but I believed he loved me. However, my grandmother had recently been feeling better. I had a knot in my gut as I drove to his house.
I knew I had to see her. Now she needed me, just as I had always needed her.
We were sitting at the kitchen table sipping tea. My grandma stirred the tea gently, keeping her gaze locked on the cup.
Then he looked up to ask, “Are you still with Henry?”
I was stuck for a time, my fingers tightly gripping the cup. “Of course,” I replied. “We are married.”
His gaze did not shift away from mine.
“And his adventures?”
I shuffled uncomfortably in my chair. That question stung me more than I cared to admit. “He promised me he wouldn’t cheat on me again,” I told him.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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