Living My Sister’s Life for Revenge

Anna pulled her son closer, gently patting his back as if to console him. “Alright, if she’s determined to throw her life away, no one can stop her. But from now on, Stacy, you’re forbidden from using the Taylor family name to your advantage.”

“I’ll arrange for someone to send you money later,” Anna continued, her tone sharp but matter-of-fact. “It’s the least I can do to honor your grandfather’s wishes.”

Stacy’s lips curved into a faint, bitter smile. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but her voice remained steady as she softly shook her head. “Thank you, Taylor family, for the five years of care. But I don’t want Grandpa’s money. You can keep it. Please leave.”

When Stacy turned away, she discreetly wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. She didn’t look back but heard Pat’s furious roar behind her.

“Stacy, don’t even think about it! You’re staying in the Taylor family, whether you like it or not. You’re mine, and no one in Canada would dare touch you!”

The sound of the door slamming echoed through the room, and silence quickly followed. Without the heating turned on, the space was bitterly cold. Stacy crouched on the floor, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth.

That evening, Stacy received a call from the hospital. Macey wasn’t expected to survive the night.

By Macey’s bedside, the same question came up again. Stacy’s answer, as always, was unwavering.

A pale, fragile smile crossed Macey’s face, tears mixing with her laughter. It was Halloween, and the world outside bustled with lively festivities. But inside the ward, the quiet was oppressive. Stacy stayed at her side, watching helplessly as Macey’s life slipped away.

Her passing marked the end of everything Stacy had known in Canada.

After the funeral, Stacy booked her plane ticket.

Before leaving, she sent Pat one final message.

She asked to meet him at the cemetery. When she left her apartment, the rain was pouring heavily. Dressed in a black coat, Stacy carried offerings and a bouquet of flowers adorned with lollipops. She emphasized in her message that this meeting was important and urged him to come.

But when she arrived at the cemetery, there was no sign of him.

Stacy stood in the rain, waiting. The downpour soaked her shoes and seeped through her coat, the cold biting into her skin. Her eyes mirrored the chill, growing distant and hollow as time passed.

With only two hours left before her flight, she was about to send a follow-up message when Pat finally called.

She answered, placing the call on speaker.

“Stacy, couldn’t we have just talked about this over the phone?” His voice was casual, even cheerful.

Her expression darkened. “So, you’re not coming?”

“Oh, right,” Pat replied lightly. “I forgot to tell you. It’s Christmas, and I’m celebrating with Tara and Sandra Wiley. Let’s talk later tonight after dinner, okay?”

In the background, someone called his name, their tone affectionate. Stacy replied with a faint “yes” and hung up the call.

She turned her attention to the tombstone in front of her, where photos of her parents were displayed. This was a place she often visited to pay her respects.

She set the bouquet beside a small flower bed near the tombstone and pulled a small safety charm from her bag, attaching it gently to the grave marker.

“Baby, you would’ve been one year old today,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Time flies, doesn’t it? I’m sorry, but Mom won’t be able to visit you anymore. At least you won’t be lonely, with Grandpa and Grandma there to keep you company.”

Her tone turned bitter as she continued, “I wanted you to see your father, to make sure you’d know to avoid him in your next life. But he didn’t come. At least you heard his voice. That’s enough. Remember, don’t ever cross paths with him again.”

The unborn child was the third victim of the car accident.

Stacy often regretted what had happened, though part of her also felt relief. The baby had been a mistake born of Pat’s fleeting affection, and fate had simply taken back what was never hers to begin with.

She wiped the rain from the flower bed with her sleeve, then placed her umbrella on top of it. Turning back to the cold stone, she ran her fingers over its surface.

“Dad, Mom, Macey’s gone now,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “I know you must be as heartbroken as I am. But don’t worry. I’ll live on—for her, for all of us. You’ll support me, won’t you?”

Her hand lingered on the stone for a moment before she pulled away. “Goodbye. Take care of each other.”

As she left the cemetery, the rain began to let up.

On the drive to the airport, the city’s vibrant Christmas decorations came into view. Neon lights from the street shops sparkled, and elaborately adorned Christmas trees lined the roads, their tiny lights twinkling in celebration.

Pat was likely seated in a high-end restaurant, basking in the warmth of the festive season.

At the airport, Stacy made a call. Her expression softened into a smile that felt like a long-lost treasure.

Afterward, she swapped out her phone card, boarded her flight, and disappeared completely.