Don't Find Me in the Next Life

Elaine's POV

One hundred years married to Everett, and I've learned one thing: whenever he wants to push me into a corner, he throws the mate bond dissolution agreement in my face. Whenever my parents want me to cave, they hold the family name over my head.

They've always wanted the same thing — for me to hand over everything I have to my twin sister Rosalie, who's been sick her whole life.

I've fought it. I've grieved over it.

But when the doctor slid the diagnosis across the desk — Blood Depletion Syndrome, late stage, less than two weeks left — something in me just went quiet.

What's the point of fighting when you're already dead?

I'm barely out of the hospital when Everett calls.

"Where are you? Get back here. Rosalie had another angina attack today. You need to sign the surgical consent form. Tonight."

I open my mouth, but he keeps going. "Don't pull that stalling crap with me. Keep it up and I'm filing the dissolution papers myself. Your call."

He hangs up.

I stare at the dark screen. Strangely calm.

This isn't the first time Everett's threatened to dissolve our bond. Six months ago, when Rosalie was admitted and they found out my blood was the only compatible match — the only thing that could fix her Blood Core Deficiency through a transfusion — all three of them started taking turns coming at me.

Dad said I stole nutrients from Rosalie in the womb, that her weak constitution was my fault. Mom cried and called me heartless. Everett told me that if I actually cared about this family, I wouldn't let Rosalie die.

I said no.

Dad slammed doors. Mom screamed in my face. Everett threw the dissolution agreement at me.

None of that matters anymore. For the first time, something almost like relief settles in my chest.

I've got two weeks left. Might as well give them what they want.

By the time the car pulls through the estate gates, it's already evening.

I hear laughter before I even get the door open.

Everett's on the couch with Rosalie curled up against him, Mom and Dad on either side. Dad's mid-story about something, and Everett's looking down at Rosalie with a softness he's never once turned toward me.

Four people. One circle. Warm and complete.

I stand in the shadow of the entryway like I wandered into the wrong house.

The door clicks shut. Everett looks up, and the moment he sees me his expression closes off. He stands, pulls two documents from the coffee table drawer, and drops them at my feet.

"Surgical consent form and the dissolution agreement. Pick one. Sign it tonight."

Mom and Dad both look over.

"Why are you just getting back?" Mom frowns. "Rosalie had a fever this afternoon."

Dad scoffs. "Always out somewhere. Rosalie's Blood Core has been defective since birth. She's the one who actually needs looking after. You're a perfectly healthy pureblood — what's your excuse for acting like none of this has anything to do with you?"

I lean down and pick up both documents.

The surgical consent already has a date filled in — seven days from now. The dissolution agreement looks like Everett prepared it a while ago. His signature is already on it. Just my line left blank.

Rosalie shifts on the couch, eyes already red. "Elaine, you don't have to," she says softly. "If you don't want to, it's okay. I'll figure something out on my own."

"Figure what out?" Everett cuts her off and turns to me. "You're the only compatible match. Where is she supposed to go? She got hurt saving my life. You're her sister — is it really that much to ask?"

She saved his life.

Something hollow and quiet moves through me.

There's nothing left to say. I've been trying to explain for a hundred years. He's never once believed me.

"Fine. I'll sign."

The room goes still.

Something crosses Everett's face — surprise, maybe — but it's gone in an instant, buried back under the usual cold. I walk to the coffee table, pick up the pen, and write my name on the surgical consent form.

One beat of silence. Then the room erupts.

"Oh, thank God." Mom's already crying, rushing over to pull Rosalie into her arms. "My baby's going to be okay."

Dad lets out a long breath and claps Everett on the shoulder. "About time. She's the older one. This is how it should be."

Everett glances over at me. Something in his face loosens, just slightly. "Good. Glad you came around."

Then he turns back to Rosalie and doesn't look at me again.

While they're all wrapped up in it, I quietly flip the dissolution agreement to the last page and sign my name. Then I slide it back onto the coffee table next to the consent form.

No one notices.

Mom sets her phone down and seems to remember I exist.

"Don't go thinking we forgot about you. Once Rosalie's surgery goes through, the estate and the family assets — you'll still have your share. You're our daughter too."

Dad nods. "Exactly. You did the right thing. We'll move forward from here."

Everett leans back against the cushions. "Once Rosalie's better, your place in this house stays the same as always. As long as you don't make things difficult."

He says it with Rosalie still tucked against him, and she watches me over his arm with a faint smile at the corner of her mouth. Sharp. Satisfied.

I stand across the coffee table and look at the four of them — their easy, unbroken circle — and something almost like a laugh moves through me.

The estate. The assets. My place in this house.

Dead women don't need any of that.

I give a small shake of my head.

"It's fine. I don't need it anymore."