My Sister Wore My Ring

When they packed their bags for a celebratory trip, I followed them.

At a winery in Napa Valley, Daniel and Victoria strolled through the vineyards, bathed in golden sunlight.

A gentle breeze rustled their hair.

Victoria wrapped her arms around Daniel’s neck, and they shared a passionate kiss among the vines.

Tourists nearby looked on with envy, applauding them.

Even my parents, usually so reserved, stood by, raising their glasses in a toast.

In that moment, who would remember me, the girl locked away to die in a cabin basement?

And who cared if anything they had done to me was fair?

“Daniel, do you think Emily will hate me? She still hasn’t returned any of my calls…” Victoria asked, leaning against Daniel’s chest like a fragile flower.

“Of course not. She’s your sister, and you’re so sick. This was your only wish. She’s not that thoughtless. We’ll make it up to her later,” Daniel soothed her gently.

Victoria nodded, her spirits instantly lifting. She excitedly dragged Daniel and my parents to a high-end steakhouse.

The meal cost over a thousand dollars. My parents winced at the bill, but Victoria acted as if she deserved it all.

After dinner, I floated back to the hotel with them.

“Daniel, don’t you want to see what’s under this new lace nightgown?”

Victoria, wearing a nearly sheer silk robe, traced circles on his chest, her voice cloyingly sweet.

“I want you tonight.”

But Daniel pushed her away. He walked out to the balcony alone and lit a cigarette, his expression troubled.

I drifted into my parents’ room.

As I expected, they were still awake, stewing over the expensive dinner.

They sat on the bed, sighing.

My mom pulled out her phone to call me, only to find my number was disconnected.

Their faces grew even darker.

To them, whenever we fought, all it took was one phone call to smooth things over. It was their grand gesture, and I was always expected to fold.

Too bad. This time, no one would ever answer that call.

“David, did you see how Victoria spends money? We can’t count on her to take care of us when we’re old. We still need Emily to pay the mortgage. But she’s not answering her phone… Do you think she really hates us?” my mom asked my dad, her face etched with worry.

My dad took a long drag from his cigarette and scoffed. “We raised her. Her sister is dying. What’s the big deal about her giving in a little? What right does she have to hate us?”

I sat in the corner, listening to their words without expression, feeling the deep, bitter irony.

In that moment, I almost felt that death was a relief.

Two weeks later, their celebratory trip ended, and they returned home.