I'd tried to believe Hector's excuses. But Emma's little provocations finally broke me.

She posted a hotel check-in on social media. In the photo, they looked close—too close. I could see the mole on his shoulder. It was Hector. My husband.

"That night, I had too much to drink with a client," he shrugged. "Emma just helped me to my room. She's your sister—why do you treat her like an enemy? We're family. Why are you so cold and heartless?"

After that, he only got closer to her, choosing her over me every time.

Even on my birthday, he glanced at his phone and left me alone.

Maybe I should've ignored it. But I couldn't.

When I finally confronted him, I'd rehearsed a dozen explanations. But the truth was uglier than I'd expected.

"Sienna, don't you care that Emma's sick? She's family. How can you be so cold and selfish? There's nothing going on with us, so why all the drama?"

Emma played the perfect victim, stepping in with a sigh. "Please, don't fight... It's my fault. Hector, you should go home. I'll be fine on my own..."

We stood there, stiff with tension, eyes locked everywhere but on each other, and her lips curled into a slight, triumphant smile.

After that, Hector barely came home. He was too busy with "business trips," meetings, and chauffeuring Emma to her endless outings.

They did everything together, and he kept insisting it was just him "being a supportive family member."

My anxiety spiraled, keeping me up at night—until I found out I was pregnant.

The news sparked a glimmer of hope. I grabbed the report, ready to surprise him.

But then the accident happened.

I lay there, blood pooling beneath me. I desperately called Hector.

He picked up, sounding irritated.

Then I heard Emma's voice in the background. "Hector, who is it? Come here and help me with this dress, would you?"

I froze, barely processing it.

He muffled the phone and snapped, "I'm busy. What is it?"

"Hector, I... I was in an accident. I lost the baby..."

"Sienna, are you serious? Is this some kind of game? Grow up. Haven't you caused enough trouble?"

My heart went cold.

The baby was gone.

When he finally arrived at the hospital, his eyes held only reproach. "If you knew you were pregnant, why were you running around like that? Emma was so worried she sprained her ankle. Can you stop being such a burden on us?"

He barely looked at me before rushing off to tend to Emma's ankle.

In that moment, everything became painfully clear: love and indifference couldn't have been more obvious.

I let out a bitter laugh, tears spilling over, draining the last warmth from my heart.

After all my desperate struggles, I sank into darkness.

How foolish, to believe—even before I died—that he loved me.

And even after my death, my soul drifted, unable to let go, watching helplessly as Emma destroyed my name.

"Hector, don't look for Sienna," she murmured tearfully. "I don't want her facing the law. She's my little sister, after all. Even if she tried to burn me alive, I can't bear to see her in jail."

Hector sighed. "Emma, you're just... too forgiving. She ruined your leg, almost burned you alive, and yet you still defend her."

Emma melted into his arms, her face soft and sympathetic. "I was always the better sister," she murmured, voice thick with emotion. "She was jealous, but I never thought she'd hate me this much."

Her voice quivered, and Hector's eyes darkened as he deepened his grip on her.

"I won't let her hurt you again. She crippled you, Emma—I can't forgive her for that. I'll divorce her. I'll protect you, no matter what."

As I heard his vow, a hollow ache filled my chest.

Turns out, even souls feel pain when there's regret.

No one had even bothered to question the fire Emma set. I was labeled a fugitive, accused of arson and hurting my "poor, innocent" sister.

Hector didn't ask the police to look for me. He didn't even return to our abandoned house, where weeds grew wild, hiding secrets.

My cold, lifeless body would stay hidden forever.

After Emma healed, Hector started calling, but each call went unanswered. Eventually, he sent a furious message:

[So, you know you're guilty and can't even face the consequences, huh? Sienna, no matter where you've run, come back and finalize the divorce!]

Of course, I didn't respond.

If I could talk, I'd tell him the divorce papers were already signed, sitting in his desk drawer. I'd arranged them after I lost our child.

That day in the hospital, lying there pale and broken, I would've forgiven anything for one kind word or a single embrace.

But he'd left me with only silence. In that moment, I'd let go.

I met with a lawyer and set everything up. Then, on the same day, Emma reached out.

"Sienna, can we move past this?" She'd laid out a feast, looking at me with wide, hopeful eyes. "Are you still mad about your eye? That was ages ago... I was young and stupid. Can't you forgive me?"

I wanted to believe her, to finally have family. Maybe, if we made peace, our mother would finally love me.

So I drank the wine she offered.

Her smile twisted, smug. "You're so naive. With you around, Hector will never be mine. You actually think you deserve to keep him? I need you gone—gone for good."

She was right. No one would come looking for me. My death would stay her secret forever.

But Emma, why did you go this far? All you had to do was call to him, and he'd have left me. I was never loved, never a real threat to you.

The fire sored, swallowing the basement.

Drugged and weak, I lay there as smoke filled the room, darkness finally taking me.

For a long time, my soul drifted, lost.

Then, a month later, something strange happened.

It was our seventh wedding anniversary.

And Hector got a message—from me.

[It's our seventh anniversary. We'll be together forever.]

I froze. How was that even possible? Wasn't I already dead?