Living My Sister’s Life for Revenge

Before he could finish speaking, Stacy interrupted him. “I understand.”

Tara was only two years younger than her, yet in his eyes, she was always the little sister—a child to be indulged. And Stacy? She was expected to play the ever-considerate older sister. The Taylor family had always been fiercely protective of their own, even if it meant ignoring inconvenient truths. Tara’s father, after all, had been a convicted drug dealer. Despite that, Anna had always shielded him and tried to soothe the damage to their family’s reputation.

Because of this, Tara was desperate to prove herself, to shake off the shadows of her father’s crimes. And Pat? He bent over backward to help her.

Stacy knew exactly what he meant, but she was tired. Too tired to listen to another lecture.

Pat sighed heavily, his frustration evident as he walked toward his car. “Let’s go. I’ll drive you.”

The white mist curled around him as he lit a cigarette. Pat rarely smoked, but when he did, it was a clear sign that he was in a foul mood—likely because of Tara. Stacy instinctively took two steps back, putting distance between herself and the smoky air.

“There’s no need,” she said.

His expression darkened. He clearly wasn’t used to being disobeyed. “Stacy, playing hard to get doesn’t suit you.”

Stacy tilted her head, a faint, mocking smile on her lips. Did he actually think she was doing this for his attention? The idea was so absurd it almost amused her. Even Pat had moments of self-delusion. How rare.

He was reaching for the car door when the headlights of another vehicle illuminated the driveway, casting sharp shadows across his face. Stacy glanced at the license plate, then calmly slipped into the back seat.

As they pulled away, she caught his expression in the rearview mirror—a mixture of dissatisfaction and something else. In that moment, a dark thought crept into her mind. She imagined how he would look if he ever received her death notice.

There were countless ways to leave, but Stacy had chosen the cruelest. Pat, she thought, you should taste the pain and humiliation I’ve endured. Only then can I feel justified for the years of my wasted sincerity.

On the way back, memories weighed heavily on her, each one a bitter reminder of her unreciprocated efforts. The ache in her chest felt unbearable, but no one could see it. To mask her tears, she rolled down the car window and let the icy wind sting her face. It made the tears less obvious.

When she returned to her apartment, Stacy found a message from Mr. Morgan. All the necessary procedures were complete. She would be free to leave soon.

Within two days, Macey’s account showed a substantial deposit. Macey had wanted Stacy to use the money to start a new life elsewhere, but Stacy had her own plans. She insisted on sticking to them.

Wanting to make her farewell meaningful, Stacy decided to organize something special for Macey at the hospital. But Macey declined, instead asking her to buy things she enjoyed.

That day, Stacy wandered the mall for hours, carefully picking out Macey’s favorite snacks and small trinkets. She was meticulous, choosing only things she knew would bring a smile to her friend’s face.

But when she passed by a maternity and baby store, something drew her inside.

The clerk, a young woman with a professional smile, greeted her warmly. “Hello! Are you shopping for your baby? Would you like some assistance?”

For once, Stacy didn’t deflect or walk away. She hesitated before asking, “What size clothes would fit a one-year-old baby?”

The clerk picked up a tiny winter coat decorated with festive Christmas patterns. “Is it for a boy or a girl?”

Stacy froze for a moment, caught off guard. Finally, she murmured, “A girl.”

The clerk asked about the baby’s height, but Stacy could only shake her head. When the clerk asked if she had any photos, Stacy waved her off with a faint, awkward smile. Feeling the clerk’s curious gaze, Stacy abandoned the idea of buying clothes and settled for a small, delicate toy instead.

As she headed to the cashier, something unexpected caught her eye—a familiar wheelchair.

“Stacy! It’s really you!”

The voice made her freeze. Turning, she saw Tara rolling toward her, excitement lighting up her face. “Aunt, Sandra, come here! Look who I found!”

Tara didn’t stop there. She whipped out her phone, ready to snap pictures.

Anger surged through Stacy, and without thinking, she stepped forward, reaching for the phone.

“Tara, stop!” she hissed, her voice low but furious.

“Stacy, don’t you dare!” Tara shot back, clutching the phone tighter as if it were her lifeline.