My Sister is the Imposter Heiress

Outside the window, the leaves carpeted the ground like scattered sheets of yellowed paper. My adoptive father lay on the sickbed, his breath growing weaker and weaker. I clutched his withered hand; my tears splashed onto the sheets, forming a small, damp stain. The doctor said that as long as we could buy that imported special medicine, my adoptive father could hold on for at least another six months. But the family's bankbook was flipped through time and again, not enough to cover even the smallest fraction of the medicine's cost. The adoptive mother sat by the bedside, her eyes vacant as she stared at the wall, repeatedly murmuring, "Why is it so hard, why is it so hard..." That night, holding on to a final flicker of hope, I went to borrow money from our neighbor, but when I returned, I found the adoptive mother hanging from the beam, the chair overturned beneath her. I rushed over, clutching her cold legs, crying for her to wake, but she never responded again. The funeral was held hastily and simply. I knelt before the altar, my knees aching painfully, my heart hollowed out as if a part of it had been torn away. My sister, Willa Cooper, stood to one side without shedding a single tear; instead, she smoothed her hair while fixating on the phone screen. After the guests had left, Willa suddenly spoke, her voice dripping with scorn: "Stop kneeling. I've long since had enough of this poverty." I looked up at her, my face streaked with tears, unable to understand why she would say such things. Willa pulled a gilded business card from her bag and threw it down in front of me: "I was never truly part of this family. I am the true heiress of the Stafford family. These past two years of pretending to be poor were only to see if you were worthy to return with me to my wealthy family." I picked up the business card, my fingertips trembling; the words "Willa Stafford, Heiress of Stafford Group" stabbed my eyes with unbearable sharpness. "Mom and Dad just passed away..." My voice choked as I tried to make her show some respect for our adoptive parents. But Willa Cooper sneered coldly, "They were unlucky—who's to blame? If they weren't still useful to me, I would have left long ago." In that moment, looking at her unfamiliar face, the last shreds of my thoughts of sister shattered completely.