After My Death, Mom Destroyed the Family

After they returned from the crematorium, my mother and father spent the rest of the day meticulously searching through the rubble of the old house that had burned down, looking for something to salvage.

Then, after they finished, they acted as if nothing had happened. They left the house and went to the next-door neighbor to play chess.

On the morning of the third day, I followed them back to our home in town.

When they arrived and opened the door, I immediately saw my boyfriend, Peter Warren sitting on the couch with his hand wrapped around my sister’s shoulder. They looked so harmonious sitting there.

I was appalled by their audacity. I wondered when all of these had started. How long had they been together? I had not even noticed the signs.

Judging by the way they were so relax, I supposed my death had lifted the burden of secrecy from them and now they could openly flaunt their affair.

Yet surely, when my parents saw Peter, their daughter’s boyfriend, in a relationship with both sisters, they would be outraged, right?

As I thought this, I was immediately slapped hard in the face by reality.

"Peter, you're here!" My mother beamed. Her face lighted up with a happy smile. "You and Isabella sit tight. You stay here for lunch, okay? I'll have your uncle buy your favorite dishes and Auntie will cook for you."

When my father heard that, he immediately hopped onto his electric scooter, ready to head out to buy the groceries.

“Dad, don’t mess up the order this time!” My sister, Isabella, called out from behind him as he rode the bike.

“Don’t worry, Isabella. Peter has been coming here enough times. How could I forget what he likes to eat?” my father responded confidently.

Just then, my younger brother, Carlos Lopez, walked in from outside. In his hand, he was holding a basketball. When he saw Peter, he eagerly approached him.

"Brother-in-law! You're here! Thanks for the sneakers you had my sister give me. I love them!”

The moment those words "Brother-in-law" came out so easily of his mouth, I finally understood. He was addressing Peter as Isabella’s boyfriend. He had never once called Peter that while we were together. For him, I was the mistress.

In fact, he had never even called me “sister.” Growing up, he only referred to me by my full name, without any hint of sibling affection.

It was now clear to me that my own parents and dear younger brother had known about Peter’s two-timing me all along.

The most laughable part? They had willingly disregarded me, his rightful girlfriend, as if I had never existed.

However, it all made sense I suppose. After all, the moment they discovered Peter came from a wealthy family, they did not hesitate to tell me that I was not the right woman for him. I did not have the profile of a rich man’s woman. According to them, my older sister was worthier than me.