My brother was born with a saint's heart. He couldn't even bring himself to step on an ant.
I was born the devil's spawn. At three, I was already puncturing a bully's bike tires.
He married his bride and loved her to the bone, and when she asked for a divorce, he signed the papers smiling.
It wasn't until later that I learned the truth—that woman took his kidney-donation agreement and used it to save her first love.
When my brother died, he was clutching their wedding photo. On the back he'd written: Don't blame her, little sister.
Reborn into this life, I didn't try to stop the wedding again.
I just waited. On their wedding night, when she carried in the tea, I stepped out from behind her and laid a knife against the best man's throat.
The best man was her first love. His legs gave out under him.
"Sister-in-law," I said. "This is my brother's wedding. What are you crying for?"
...
When she carried the tea in, I was behind the curtain counting her footsteps.
One. Two. Three.
She stopped in front of my brother, her voice sickly sweet, like honey water left to sit for three days.
"Drink your tea, husband."
I pushed the curtain aside and walked out. The knife in my hand I'd swiped from the kitchen—sharpened, used on ribs—and now it rested against the best man's throat.
His name was Luke Simmons. He wore a white suit and looked more like the groom than my brother did.
His whole body locked up, his Adam's apple bobbing against the blade.
The teacup tipped out of Kayla Fox's hands. Hot water splashed across her own fingers, scalding them red.
She didn't cry out. Her eyes were fixed on the knife, her lips trembling.
My brother rose from his chair. "Belle. Put the knife down."
I didn't look at him.
I watched Kayla, waiting to see exactly when those tears welling in her eyes would finally fall.
Luke cracked first, his voice shaking. "Do—do you know who I am?"
"I know."
I said, "You're the kept man Kayla's bankrolled for five years. She took my brother's kidney-donation agreement to save you. You think you're worth it?"
I pressed the blade in a fraction. A bead of blood slid down the edge.
My brother said my full name. "Belinda Henson."
Only then did I turn to look at him.
He stood there in his groom's suit, a red boutonniere pinned to his chest, and the look on his face wasn't anger. It was heartache.
He was aching for Kayla.
He'd worn the same look last time.
When Kayla asked him for a divorce, he signed it smiling and said, As long as Kay's happy.
Before they wheeled him into the operating room, he turned to me and said, Don't blame her, little sister. I chose this.
He hadn't chosen anything.
Kayla had tricked him into signing that agreement, letting him believe he was only donating a kidney to save some stranger.
He didn't know that kidney would go into Luke's body. He didn't know Kayla had spent three months feeding him drugs that crushed his immune system down to nothing.
Post-surgical infection. A fever that wouldn't break.
He lay in the ICU clutching that wedding photo, with one line written on the back: Don't blame her, little sister.
I knelt outside his room and bowed my head to the floor three times, hard enough to split my forehead open, and none of it brought him back.
This time I won't stop the wedding.
I can't.
Last time I cried, I raged, I starved myself, and my brother married Kayla anyway.
He said, You don't understand, Belle. Kay's a good girl.
She was a good girl.
Good enough to watch you die with a smile.
"Belinda," Kayla finally spoke, her voice quaking. "You've got this wrong, I never—"
"Never what?"
I lifted the blade off Luke's throat and held it beside his carotid. "Never took my brother's kidney-donation agreement to save him? Then what is this?"
I pulled the photocopy of the agreement from my pocket and flung it in her face.
The pages scattered across the floor. The last one landed at my brother's feet. He bent down, picked it up, and his eyes dropped to the signature line.
