My Sister Stole My Husband And My Life

The next morning, Emmeline Larson woke to a sharp pain knifing through her abdomen. She reached for the painkillers on her nightstand as familiar voices, threaded with laughter, drifted up from the living room downstairs.

Soon, Brittany Arnold knocked on her door. “Ma’am, Mr. and Mrs. Larson are here. They wanted to know if you’re feeling better—and if you’d come down and visit for a bit.”

Once the painkillers began to take the edge off, she answered, calm and even, “I know. I’ll be down in a minute.”

The storm inside her had settled overnight—not into clarity or closure, just resignation. She had no desire to take her frustration out on innocent people like Brittany, or even Darren and Ila Larson. They had raised her for twenty-two years. Who was she to throw resentment in their faces?

Halfway down the stairs, Emmeline found Darren Larson deep in conversation with Henrik Dean on the couch, while Ila Taylor chatted warmly with Quinn Larson and chimed in every so often with bright enthusiasm. They were so absorbed that no one noticed her approach—until Quinn spotted her first.

Quinn stood and hooked her arm through Emmeline’s with a playful tug. Her innocent eyes held a playful reproach. “Sis, you’re finally here! So why didn’t you come to my party yesterday? Spill.”

Emmeline didn’t pull away. She simply looked at Quinn. There was no provocation or guilt in Quinn’s eyes, only a girl’s playful reproach. Suddenly, Emmeline found herself smiling. Why hadn’t she gone?

How strange that her car had broken down, and the cab she’d taken had been driven by someone reckless enough to commit a crime on impulse. Just like that, she’d ended up kidnapped. If Quinn wasn’t behind it, then was it simply fate?

Quinn laughed, maybe a little embarrassed under Emmeline’s steady gaze, and spread her hands. “All right, give me my gift, and all is forgiven.”

“I don’t have a gift,” Emmeline said quietly. “I wasn’t feeling well yesterday, so I stayed home.”

Quinn’s face fell, and Ila turned on Emmeline with a mild reproach in her voice. “It’s one thing to miss your sister’s birthday, but not even to prepare a gift? If you can’t make an effort for family, what will you ever care about?”

Emmeline let out a small, bitter smile. Before Quinn came back, she had always gone out of her way to prepare thoughtful gifts for her parents on every birthday and holiday. She still did. Yet this one missed occasion—Quinn’s birthday—seemed to erase everything she’d done in the eyes of the woman she’d called Mom for twenty-two years.

She wanted to tell them she’d been kidnapped and assaulted yesterday. But they were all so happily gathered for Quinn’s birthday. Maybe it was better to keep quiet.

Better they think her indifferent and uncaring. If she mentioned the kidnapping, they might call her jealous, an attention-seeker making up wild excuses. It would sound so petty. No one would believe her.

Seeing Ila scold Emmeline, Quinn stepped in at once to shield her. “Mom, don’t say that about my sister! She must have been too busy and just forgot.”

Then she cheerfully slipped behind Henrik and rested her hands on his shoulders. “Besides, Sis and her husband are one, so if she didn’t prepare anything, my brother-in-law can make it up to me!”

Ila chuckled, indulgent, and wagged a finger at Quinn. “Look at you, so protective of your sister. We raised her for twenty-two years, and we can’t say a single word?”

“Not a single word,” Quinn shot back, playful and bold.

“Mom,” Henrik said, standing and sidestepping Quinn’s hands to pull a gift box from a shelf, “Emmeline did prepare a gift for Quinn, so I don’t need to do it for her. She was only teasing.”

Quinn lit up at once and opened the box with delight. “Wow—a pink diamond necklace! I love it!”

She threw her arms around Henrik. “Thank you, Emmeline! Thank you, Henrik!”

Henrik instinctively glanced at Emmeline. She stood quietly, watching the scene unfold, no visible emotion on her face.

Then Ila pulled Emmeline down onto the couch, her tone layered with that particular brand of cordiality. “See how fond your sister is of you both? Since you’re all the same age, whenever you plan outings or trips, take her along. She’s no trouble at all—so well-behaved.”

“She’s twenty-five, and so am I. What exactly am I supposed to show her?” Emmeline finally asked, unable to hold back.

“You know how much Quinn has been through… As her elder sister and brother-in-law, shouldn’t you help her out?” Ila’s face darkened, her tone sharpening. “Introduce her to the circles you move in.”

At that, Darren chimed in from the side. “I’ve already discussed it with Henrik. By the end of the month, Quinn will start interning at his company to learn the ropes. The Larson family’s future business will depend on her. Oh—and I’ve turned your old room into an art studio for Quinn, since you’re married now and don’t come home often. If you want to stay overnight, you’ll have to share with her.”

Emmeline listened in utter silence as her parents said Quinn’s name over and over. A prickling sensation lodged in her throat, like a fishbone that wouldn’t dislodge.

What could she say? Wasn’t every word they spoke a hint—a reminder?

A reminder that she wasn’t truly a Larson, that she had taken the marriage that by rights belonged to their biological daughter, and that she therefore owed Quinn her support as compensation. A hint that, since she wasn’t their real daughter, she shouldn’t harbor any thoughts about the Larson assets—and should stay away from the family home as much as possible.

Emmeline’s cheeks stung as if she’d been slapped by an invisible hand. The painkillers had temporarily dulled the ache in her abdomen, but it twisted sharply again. Clutching her stomach, she managed a weak response.

Ila’s expression shifted—not with concern for Emmeline’s well-being, but with annoyance at her attitude. “What kind of response is that? When did you become so dismissive with your parents? If it were Quinn, she would have said, ‘Yes, Mother, I’ll—’”

“Yes, Mother, I understand,” Emmeline cut her off abruptly, grimacing as she stood. “My stomach hurts. I’ll be upstairs. Don’t call me for dinner—I don’t have an appetite.”

With that, she turned and climbed the stairs without hesitation.

“Sis, aren’t you going to have birthday cake with me? I came especially to celebrate with you!” Quinn called from the foot of the stairs.

Darren and Ila exchanged glances, disappointment written all over their faces. Not their biological child, after all. Raised for so many years, yet showing no gratitude.

Henrik watched Emmeline’s retreating figure, brows knitted in thought. Then he moved to Quinn’s side. “Your sister hasn’t been well these past few days. Don’t push her too hard. If you’re free this afternoon, I can show you around the company and help you get familiar with your future workplace.”

Darren and Ila’s faces lit up again.

“We can always count on you as her brother-in-law.”

“Go on, thank your brother-in-law.”

“Thank you, Henrik,” Quinn said, a sweet, gentle smile on her face, though her gaze subtly followed Emmeline’s retreating figure.

Those clear, doe-like eyes glittered with a hint of cunning.

Emmeline, you must feel so wronged.

You lost a child, and still your own biological parents forced you to celebrate my birthday—me, the actual impostor daughter.

But don’t worry. There’s plenty more where that came from.