Better Dead Than Married

While Philip kept ranting, Ariel just stared, eyes wide, like blinking might break her. But the tears came anyway.

I didn't say a word—just pulled her in and let her cry.

This was our reality now. Marriages that meant nothing.

Next morning, Edmond and Philip headed to the station. Since no one had ID'd us yet, Edmond couldn't start the autopsy. All he could do was collect DNA for comparison.

Oh, and it just happened to be Keyla's birthday.

Before their shift was even over, Philip slung an arm around Edmond.

"So, what'd you get Keyla this year? She always loves your gifts. Hook me up with some ideas?"

Ariel and I just watched them, stone-faced.

She let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "We were fooled from the start."

I laughed too. Neither of us even knew Keyla's birthday was today.

Every year around this time, Edmond and Philip claimed they were slammed at work. We never questioned it.

Guess our trust made it easy to lie.

Before heading to Keyla's, they called us—habit, probably.

We didn't pick up. Philip cursed and chucked his phone. Edmond didn't even try. Just sent a text.

One word: [Overtime].

Couldn't even come up with a fresh excuse.

Since she was "injured," Keyla wheeled herself to the door—but botched it and crashed into something.

Edmond didn't flinch. Just bent down and scooped her up like it was nothing.

Even Philip blinked. So did I.

That was the kind of tenderness he gave his so-called "little sister," while I—his wife—never got close.

To Edmond, even our unborn baby came second to Keyla.