How I Confront My Sister After Rebirth

Stolen Work

When Colette came back, she proudly lifted her chin and deliberately showed off the huge diamond ring on her finger. "I'm getting married soon, Liz. You'll give me your blessing, won't you?"

"Sure," I replied coolly, adjusting my glasses. "I hope your wish comes true and you give birth to a record-breaking number of kids."

The moment I stepped out the door, I heard the sound of her sobbing behind me. "I finally found happiness, but why would Liz say that to me?"

My mom spat in disgust. "What good is working so hard if you end up alone?"

Then, she turned gentle, comforting my sister. "She's just jealous of you. Don't cry, pumpkin."

I rolled my eyes. In my mom's eyes, nothing mattered more than marrying well.

In my past life, just because Henry once said he liked housewives, my mother had thrown a tantrum and forced me to quit my job. She even handed all my IDs and bank cards over to Henry, determined to trap me at home.

When I put up a fight, she scolded me for being ungrateful. "Henry's family is so well-off. You should feel blessed that you get to be a housewife. If your sister hadn't given him up to you, do you think you'd have even had the chance?"

Because of those words, I spent decades serving my in-laws, doing all the housework, shuttling the kids between school and extracurriculars, tutoring them myself. Every responsibility fell on me. And still, I was scolded for being lazy, for doing nothing all day but asking for money.

Even my own children looked down on me, comparing me to other glamorous mothers and calling me nothing more than a leech. If we ran into their classmates while shopping, they'd introduce me as their housemaid. And forget about parent-teacher meetings; they never let me attend. Even at their weddings, I wasn't allowed to give a speech—but when babysitting was needed, I was the first person they turned to.

The memory made me shiver.

When I finally sat down at my desk, a colleague leaned over and whispered, "The manager asked for you. He looks grim—I don't think it's anything pleasant."

I thanked her and went straight to the manager's office.

The moment I walked in, his expression was thunderous. He forced his anger down and snapped, "Liz Stanton, you're fired! Not only that—you'll compensate the company for all the losses you've caused."

I stared at him, baffled. "Sir, you know how much profit my proposal brought in. You can't—"

Before I could finish, he slammed a stack of documents into me. "Your proposal? You've got the nerve to say that? You've been sued for plagiarism! Now our entire firm is a laughingstock. Either you resign and pay up, or the whole industry will know you're a fraud. You'll never work in this field again!"

'Plagiarism?' I frowned in confusion. That proposal was the result of countless sleepless nights and research. Hesitantly, I opened the file and saw the name of the planner from the other company: Colette Stanton.

In that instant, I understood everything.