
My long-lost little sister called herself a "curious little darling."
She tore open my private file without a word, and when I lost it on her, she ran crying into our mother's arms.
"I was just curious whether there was anything embarrassing in your file, that's all."
When I was getting intimate with my fiancé, she waltzed right in with a baby bottle in her mouth and asked with wide-eyed innocence:
"Are you and Harrison doing naughty things?"
Even at my wedding, she showed up clutching a sippy cup and asked my mother-in-law, loud enough for the whole table to hear:
"What does abortion mean? A doctor said my sister's had eight of them."
My in-laws turned on me right there and declared the wedding void.
My own parents called me a disgrace and threw me out.
I was hit by a car speeding down the road.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the wedding.
So she wanted to play the curious little darling?
Fine. I'd show her what curiosity does to the cat.
...
"Pretty lady, have you ever heard of an abortion?"
"A doctor said my sister's had eight of them, but I'm sooo curious what that word means!"
I was at the reception, arm linked with my husband Harrison Weiss, making the rounds to toast our guests.
That was when I heard it from the head table: my sister, dressed in a pink dinosaur onesie with two heart-shaped buns on her head, posing her question to my mother-in-law and every relative within earshot.
Chopsticks clattered to rest at neighboring tables as guests stopped mid-bite.
Every head swiveled toward us, eyes gleaming with the thrill of a spectacle.
Greta Finch's face went black. Her jaw locked so tight the muscle in her cheek twitched, and her fists shook on the tablecloth.
She was seconds from detonating.
Here it comes. Exactly the same as last time.
The moment Marilyn Cobb finished that question, my mother-in-law would erupt.
She'd flip the table, announce the marriage was null and void.
Then she'd drag Harrison away, screaming that I was a shameless tramp for all to hear.
Marilyn, realizing she'd "caused trouble," would bury herself in our mother's arms, pout her little lips, and squeeze out two fat crocodile tears.
"I didn't mean to!"
"I was just really, really curious what that word means!"
And my mother, mortified by me rather than her, would shield Marilyn and snap:
"You did this to yourself and you have the nerve to blame your sister?"
"She's just more innocent than you."
"You've humiliated this family. From today on, don't bother coming home."
I became the woman everyone spat on, while Marilyn, safe under our parents' protection, took my place and married Harrison.
The memory alone made my blood boil. So before Greta could explode this time around,
I snatched the microphone from the emcee's hand, gathered my dress, stepped forward, and shoved it right up to Marilyn's lips.
"Say it again. Louder."
The sharpness in my voice hit her like a slap. Marilyn's big doe eyes went perfectly round, and a film of tears pooled on cue.
"Waaah!"
"You're being mean! I'm scared!"
Just like last time, she burst into tears and threw herself into our mother's arms.
Half her face peeked out, stealing a cautious glance at me before she whimpered her accusation:
"I was just being curious. Why are you yelling at me?"
"Unless... you don't want people to find out?"
Right on schedule, the waterworks bought her exactly what she wanted. Our mother patted her back and glared daggers at me:
"What is wrong with you? You know she's timid. Why are you raising your voice at her?"
Marilyn sobbed until she was gasping, and even let out a little milk-burp for good measure.
"Hic."
"Okay, okay, I get it. You want the doctor to keep it a secret."





