My Sister Stole My Husband And My Life

“Not a fan of my wife, are you?”

Henrik Dean asked coolly, his voice steady as he ladled the egg and brown sugar water out of the pot. But there was an undercurrent of authority in his tone that was impossible to miss.

Myles Cole, eager to dodge conflict, answered quickly. “No, no, of course not. It's just—Mrs. Dean's been through a lot. After raising her for more than twenty years, the Larsons suddenly bring home another daughter and expect her to hand her husband over to Quinn. If I were her, I'd be on edge too...”

“You're saying too much,” Henrik cut in, ending the call. He carried the bowl upstairs, a little relieved. Just a flare-up. He could handle a flare-up.

He set the bowl on the bedside table. Emmeline was still buried under the covers, only a wisp of hair visible.

Henrik gently pulled the blanket down and pinched her cheek. “How about some brown sugar water, sweetheart?”

“My little fairy Emmeline, the most beautiful girl in the universe?”

Emmeline sat up abruptly, her face blank. “Get out.”

“You drink this, and I'll leave,” Henrik replied, folding his arms with a faint smile.

Without a word, Emmeline picked up the bowl and downed it. Henrik smirked, satisfied. Good thing he'd blown on it to cool it on the way up.

After she finished, Emmeline fixed him with a flat, unwavering stare. Her meaning was clear: I drank it. Can you leave now?

Unruffled, Henrik opened the closet and pulled out a pair of cotton socks. He peeled back the covers to slip them onto her feet.

She was sensitive to the cold, and her periods brought cramps and made her especially irritable. Henrik was used to making her brown sugar water, warming up hot water bottles, and making sure she slept in socks.

But this time, Emmeline wasn't having it. Every time he tried to put the socks on, she pulled her feet away. When he caught her ankle, she kicked his hand off with her other foot, dead set on stopping him.

Henrik exhaled slowly and stopped trying. He took in her messy hair and red-rimmed eyes, and his voice softened.

“Can you please just wear them? I'm a little worn out today.”

Emmeline let out a bitter laugh. “Not too worn out to dance. Why don't you go dance with Quinn Larson?”

“Jealous?” Henrik teased, hearing what was really bothering her. “Your parents told me Quinn can't dance and might embarrass herself. How could I say no to your folks?”

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Besides, how many times have we danced together? People used to call us a golden couple. Quinn's just a kid to me.”

“My parents want us to divorce so you can marry her. Go ahead.”

Henrik's smile faded.

“I married you, not the title of Miss Larson,” he said, taking her hand. “And anyway, that was two or three years ago...”

“They still want it now,” she muttered bitterly. “And so do some people in your family. They're convinced marrying Quinn Larson would protect the family's prestige.”

The room fell silent. Henrik looked at her, exhaustion in his eyes. “So what—should I cut your parents off over Quinn? You still go back for family meals on holidays, don't you?”

“I'm not going back!” Emmeline screamed, flinging pillows and blankets off the bed, her voice sharp enough to cut. “I'll divorce you, and then you can do whatever you want. Be with Quinn as much as you like—even end up in bed together!”

Henrik dragged in a breath, his chest heaving, a vein pulsing at his temple. After a moment, he spoke. “Do you even hear what you're saying? Quinn is your sister!”

“She is not!”

Emmeline was hysterical. “I'm not even their child! I'm just an orphan of unknown origins! Quinn is the real daughter! If you don't like what I say, go be with her!”

The air went still.

Henrik's face hardened as he clenched the pillow she'd thrown at him, his expression cold and formidable.

But Emmeline didn't back down. She met his gaze head-on, almost daring him to throw it back. She wanted the illusion shattered—wanted to finally accept that she was nothing but an outsider in both the Larson and Dean families.

The room was a wreck, yet so silent she could hear a pin drop. Time crawled. She watched his jaw tighten, anger simmering in his dark eyes.

His thin lips pressed into a tight line, as if one wrong move would unleash something harsh.

Emmeline waited for the words she'd been bracing for.

Divorce.

Let's end it.

This life of mutual torment and swallowed feelings—she couldn't take it anymore.

But after what felt like an eternity, Henrik simply lowered his eyes. He set the pillow back on the bed and gently covered her with the blanket.

“I'm going to get you a hot water bottle,” he muttered, turning to leave.

As he left, Emmeline hurled another pillow at the door. The tears came right after.

She must look awful now.

When had she become this unreasonable, hysterical woman?

She didn't like this version of herself either.

But ever since Quinn came back, everything had changed.

It was as if everyone around her kept subtly reminding her.

Her parents, her marriage, her life—all of it had been taken from Quinn.

So who was she?

Where was she supposed to go now?

Would giving everything back be her only relief?

---

While preparing two hot water bottles, Henrik pulled himself together downstairs. Just as he was ready to head back up, his mother-in-law, Ila Taylor, called.

“Henrik? Is Emmeline home? Was she upset with Quinn today?”

Henrik forced a smile. “Nothing like that. Emmeline isn't feeling well, so she's resting at home.”

“That's good to hear. You know we've spoiled her since she was little. Please be patient if she gets a little demanding,” Ila said with a light laugh. “Quinn said she missed her sister at the party. Why don't you two come over tomorrow? We can celebrate her birthday again.”

Henrik glanced upstairs and politely declined. “Emmeline's having a rough time with her cycle, so she might not be up for it. She picked out a gift for Quinn; I'll bring it by tomorrow.”

“Oh, that's fine. We can come to you instead—it won't be any trouble,” Ila said with an affectionate reproach. “You know, since Quinn came back, she's become even closer to Emmeline and you than to her father and me. After everything she's been through, we just want to make things better for her.”

Henrik swallowed back his refusal and finally managed, “Okay.”

Carrying the hot water bottles upstairs, he found the bedroom door locked.

Henrik knocked a few times but got no answer. He set the bottles by the door. “Your parents are coming by tomorrow. Try to get some rest tonight.”

Then he headed to the guest room.

Just as he walked in, a loud crash echoed from the master bedroom.