My Husband Let Me Drown for My Fake Sister

"Here."

My father, John Kensington, pushed a rectangular slip of paper across the marble kitchen island.

I picked it up. A commercial boarding pass to Honolulu. Economy class.

"What is this?" I asked.

"Your flight details," John answered.

"I thought we were taking the family jet."

John crossed his arms, his posture rigid. "Fairy, you know your sister has depressive tendencies. She doesn't want to see you right now."

"Zoe is twenty-three, Dad."

"She feels guilty," he snapped, his voice rising. "She feels terrible for occupying your place all these years. So you'll take a commercial flight by yourself. The three of us, and Dean, will take the family's private jet."

I stared at the ticket. Five years. It had been five years since the Kensingtons found me, their biological daughter, living in a cramped foster home. They brought me back to this mansion. They introduced me to their world. Two years ago, I even married Dean Aston, the heir to the Aston family, cementing a business alliance my father desperately wanted.

Yet, I was still the outsider.

"So I fly commercial. Alone," I said.

"It’s just a few hours apart. Don't make a scene out of this."

"My husband is taking the private jet with my family, and I am flying alone. How does that make sense?"

"Dean agreed it was for the best," John said flatly. "Zoe needs a peaceful environment. Seeing you on that plane, knowing she took your life for eighteen years, is too much pressure for her."

A bitter taste flooded my mouth.

"Fine," I said. "If it keeps her calm."

John turned his back to me, pouring himself a cup of coffee. The conversation was over.

I left the kitchen and walked down the hallway into the main living room. My mother, Mandy, had three large suitcases spread open across the velvet sofa.

"Pass me that yellow sundress, would you?" she asked.

I handed her the fabric. It was a size zero. I wore a size six.

"Are you packing for everyone?" I asked.

"Just the girls," Mandy replied, smoothing out a floral skirt.

I looked down at the neat stacks of clothing. Bright pinks, pastel yellows, tiny waistlines.

"None of these fit me," I pointed out.

Mandy stopped folding. She finally glanced at my face. "Oh. Well, I just grabbed what was in the east wing closets."

Zoe's wing.

"I can pack my own things," I said.

"Good. Make sure you don't bring anything too dark or gloomy. We want this trip to be uplifting for your sister."

Footsteps sounded on the hardwood stairs.

Zoe paused halfway down, her hand gripping the mahogany banister. She wore a silk robe, her pale face void of makeup.

She stared at me. Her lower lip trembled.

"Zoe?" Mandy asked, dropping a swimsuit into the nearest suitcase. "Honey, what’s wrong?"

Zoe’s face crumpled. A loud, jagged sob tore from her throat as she sank onto the carpeted steps.

"It’s my fault!" she wailed, burying her face in her hands.

"What is?" I asked, taking a step forward.

"I made my sister sad!" Zoe screamed. She pointed a shaking finger at me. "I saw the way you looked at those clothes! I saw the ticket Dad gave you!"

John rushed into the room, his coffee mug abandoned. "What’s going on?"

"She should be the one taking the private jet with you!" Zoe cried, her voice cracking loudly. "I occupied her place for eighteen years! I’m a thief! Just let me leave!"

"No one is calling you a thief," I said.

"You hate me!" Zoe shrieked, pulling at her own hair. "Just let me go! I’ll stay behind! I’ll disappear forever!"

"Zoe, stop it!" Mandy rushed to the stairs, reaching for her.

Before Mandy could touch her, a tall figure pushed past me from the hallway.

Dean.

My husband.

He didn't even glance in my direction. He took the stairs two at a time and dropped to his knees beside Zoe.

"Hey, hey. Look at me," Dean commanded, his tone softer than I had ever heard it.

Zoe threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest.

"I ruin everything, Dean," she sobbed into his shirt.

"You didn't ruin anything," he whispered. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him. He rocked her gently back and forth. "It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault."

"She hates me."

"She doesn't," Dean replied. He stroked the back of her head, untangling her hair with his fingers. "We all want you there. I want you there."

My stomach dropped. I watched Dean’s hand trace circles on her back. This was the man who had slid a wedding ring onto my finger. This was the man who shared my bed.

"Dean," I said.

He didn't turn around.

"Dean," I repeated, my voice rising.

He finally shifted his gaze over his shoulder. His eyes were cold, completely devoid of the warmth he had just poured over Zoe.

"Can't you see she's having a panic attack?" he demanded.

"She's my sister. You're my husband."

"And you're being incredibly selfish right now, Fairy."

John stepped between me and the stairs, blocking my view. "Go to your room. You're upsetting her further."

"I didn't say a single word to her!"

"Your presence is enough," John retorted.

Mandy stood behind Dean, patting Zoe's shoulder. "Shh, baby. Mommy's here. Dean is here. You're safe."

Zoe peeked out from Dean’s embrace. Her tear-streaked eyes met mine through the gap between my father's shoulder and the banister.

For a split second, the corners of her mouth twitched upward.

A smile.

Then she buried her face back into my husband's neck and wailed even louder.

"I'll just cancel my flight," I said, my nails digging into my palms until the skin stung.

Dean stood up, lifting Zoe into his arms as easily as if she weighed nothing.

"No," Dean stated, his jaw locked tight. "You're going to Hawaii. But you're staying in a different hotel. I won't let you ruin this vacation for her."

He carried her up the stairs. My parents followed right behind him, murmuring endless words of comfort to the girl who had stolen my life.

I stood alone in the living room among the open suitcases. My family was gone. My husband was gone.