Married to the Wrong Sister

I return to the country after attending an international anesthesia academic conference. That's when I see the news of my boyfriend and twin sister getting married.

I'm anxious to verify its authenticity, but my sister drugs me and induces me.

"A substitute's child will only be an unwelcome bastard even if it's born. I'm just helping it move on to a better life."

Then, she slices me open with a scalpel. She gouges my womb out, causing me to die from significant blood loss.

Meanwhile, my boyfriend believes her lies. He's sure he's not the father of my child.

He ignores my messages begging him to save me. Instead, he spreads the word about me eloping with someone else. He even wipes all traces of me from his life. "I will never see her again, forever and ever."

Five years later, surveillance footage of my sister cruelly murdering me surfaces.

My soul drifted above, staring at the frozen video frame on the computer screen.

I gazed at my own body lying lifeless on the bed, a deep wound carved into my abdomen. Blood had soaked through the white sheets, pooling onto the floor beside a blurred-out mass of flesh.

Even my face had been blurred out too.

"Who could have been so ruthless? The victim had no strength to fight back—it's as if she was drugged," a colleague said regretfully to Bosco Sharp. "But this video was recorded five years ago. Does it still hold any news value?"

Bosco sat down and said, "No matter how much time has passed, we must always speak up for the weak. Start the video from the beginning."

I watched him—his upright posture, his air of conviction. The nameplate on his desk read, "Chief News Anchor, Bosco Sharp".

So, he had done well for himself in the five years since my death.

Back then, Martha Wagner had whispered lies about me and Mason Hall, and Bosco had believed them without question.

My ashes had likely been taken by Mason, never properly buried.

I had become a restless spirit trapped in the shadows until recently—when someone dug up my urn.

Along with this surveillance footage, it had been sent to Golden Prime Network.

Bosco clicked on the video and a wave of anxiety washed over me. My hands clenched instinctively.

At the very start of the footage, a fetus tumbled from my body.

Bosco muttered, "Judging by the size, it was at least five months old. She was definitely drugged."

Sighing, he added, "It's not easy to conceive. Martha tried for five years before she finally got pregnant."

When I heard that Martha was expecting, my heart twisted. After all this—after everything she had done—my gentle, considerate twin sister was able to carry a child, live her life. But mine… mine would never come back.

A colleague patted Bosco's shoulder. "Good things take time. You and Mrs. Sharp have been through a lot. It's all because Abigail ran away with someone and injured Mrs. Sharp back then, making her frail."

Bosco's eyelashes trembled slightly at the mention of my name. He didn't want to talk about me.

His colleague noticed the shift in his expression and cleared his throat awkwardly.

On the screen, Martha's blurred-out figure ruthlessly drove a knife into me.

Her movements were crisp and precise—not the frail woman who struggled to twist open a bottle cap.

She was shouting, her voice distorted with rage.

In the video, my head lolled to the side, my gaze fixed on the tiny form on the floor. I barely reacted to the pain.

My baby had only a few more months before it would have been born.

It was still moving, still struggling, still reaching out to me for help.

But I had never even gotten the chance to choose a name.

I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. I could only sob in silence as tears streamed endlessly down my face.

Then Martha leaned in, whispering a venomous secret in a voice only I could hear.

"If he finds out Mason fathered this child, what do you think will happen?"

I mustered the last strength to grab her, shaking my head frantically. My voice was a weak, broken whisper. "No… How could I…"

Bosco didn't recognize my voice.

If Martha and I hadn't shared the same face, he probably wouldn't even remember what I looked like.

His expression darkened as he stood and strode toward the broadcast studio.

Then, suddenly, he stopped. "Has this video been handed over to the police?"

His colleague nodded quickly. "Before it was sent here, the person who reported it had already contacted the Westin Police Station."

"Westin…" Bosco frowned as if something had just clicked in his mind. His breath hitched slightly.

His colleague noticed his reaction. "Mr. Sharp, are you alright?"

"Make sure they crack the blur effect," Bosco simply said.

Then, without hesitation, he coldly declared, "Such a cruel murderer cannot be allowed to walk free."

I let out a hollow, sorrowful laugh, my voice lost in the air. "Bosco, if you knew the murderer was the wife you cherished so dearly, would you still say the same?"