They Faked Death, I Died with My Child for Real
Fuzzy Melissa · Completed · 9.0k Words
Introduction
I escaped only because of stomach pain that kept me from boarding. My adopted sister Claire became the sole survivor.
Since then, I've become an empty shell.
Even after being diagnosed with terminal uterine cancer, even while carrying my late husband's child, I've endured the agony of chemotherapy alone, exhausting what little strength remains to scrape together money for Claire—who hides away in a private care facility, claiming severe PTSD.
Until this winter day, with a blizzard approaching.
Dragging my dying body to my husband's memorial to pay respects, I discovered a credit card statement—charges made three months after his death.
Following the address on that receipt, I pushed open the door of a luxurious suburban villa.
Inside, it was warm as spring. My parents and brother, who should have been at the bottom of the ocean, stood there perfectly alive.
At the center of the room, my husband—the man I'd grieved for day and night—was kissing my adopted sister, his lips tender against hers.
The whole family was celebrating, raising glasses to toast the infant cradled in Claire's arms—barely a month old.
There had never been any disaster at sea.
It was all a meticulously planned hoax—their twisted way to erase me from their lives forever.
Chapter 1
The deep-sea yacht explosion six months ago swallowed everyone I had in this world.
My husband Leonard Sinclair. My parents. My brother.
If I hadn't been forced to stay ashore that day because of sudden, excruciating abdominal pain, maybe I'd be with them now—sunk to the bottom of the cold Pacific.
The search and rescue team looked for two solid weeks. They didn't recover a single intact piece of wreckage.
For the past six months, I've been nothing more than a corpse animated by grief.
The devastation stripped away all my hope. I've wanted to follow them countless times, but I can only drag myself through this frozen city where I'm the only one left, clinging to existence.
I laid a bundle of frozen white roses gently in front of Leonard's empty grave.
The man in the black-and-white photo on the headstone still wore that handsome, gentle smile.
"Leonard..." My voice came out hoarse, as if I'd swallowed a handful of broken glass.
I bent down with difficulty. A sharp, piercing pain shot through my lower abdomen, like countless electric drills grinding into my organs.
Instinctively, I pressed my hand against my slightly rounded belly. Cold sweat beaded across my forehead.
Stage four uterine cancer.
That was the verdict the doctor handed me three months ago.
"Mrs. Sinclair, if you don't have the hysterectomy immediately, you have six months at most."
"But... I'm pregnant."
I refused the surgery. Signed the liability waiver. Because this was Leonard's only bloodline left in this world. My only reason to keep living.
"Leonard, the baby kicked me again today." I leaned against the headstone, a weak smile twisting across my face—uglier than crying. "If you were still alive, you would've been such a good father, wouldn't you?"
Just then, a sharp ding shattered the silence.
A new email notification from Leonard's backup account.
My hands trembled as I pulled out my phone. A message flashed across the screen—a purchase receipt from a children's boutique:
[Order Confirmation: Custom designer baby outfit for Ms. Claire – Delivered. Total: $150,000. Shipped to: 8 Maple Lake Villa, Western Suburbs.]
The air froze.
My heart felt like it was being crushed by an invisible fist.
Claire?
My adopted sister Claire. In that horrific maritime disaster, she was the only survivor in the entire family.
Since her rescue, she'd claimed to suffer from severe post-traumatic stress disorder.
For the past six months, I'd been dragging my dying body around, borrowing money everywhere, draining every last penny—all to keep her in that expensive rehabilitation facility!
But why would a dead man's account be buying baby clothes for her?
And when did Claire get pregnant?!
A grotesque, terrifying thought crashed into my mind, freezing me to the bone.
I hauled my lead-heavy legs through the blizzard and hailed a cab straight to the western suburbs.
The whole ride, I kept lying to myself. The account must have been hacked.
But when the taxi pulled up in front of that brightly lit luxury villa, every fantasy I'd clung to shattered completely.
The curtains weren't drawn.
Through the illuminated floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see everything inside with crystal clarity.
A warm fire crackled in the fireplace. In the center of the living room sat a massive three-tiered cake decorated with pastel ribbons and tiny baby figurines.
My parents were beaming as they cooed over the baby in the stroller.
My brother Arthur stood nearby, swirling a glass of red wine, laughing.
And the tall man standing beside the stroller, gazing down with eyes so tender they could melt steel...
Was Leonard. My husband, who was supposed to be at the bottom of the ocean.
BOOM—
Something exploded inside my skull. Stars burst across my vision.
They weren't dead.
None of them were dead!
Not only were they alive—they were gathered here, celebrating together, throwing a party for Claire's baby!
So what did that make my tears these past six months? What about stopping my cancer treatment to pay for my sister's care, letting the disease ravage me until it became terminal?!
I shoved the villa door open.
The laughter inside died instantly. Every head whipped toward me like I was a monster.
I was soaked through, skeletal from weight loss—a walking corpse draped in clothes.
"Briley?"
Arthur broke the silence first. He frowned, no joy at our reunion on his face—only irritation at being interrupted.
"How the hell did you find us?"
I ignored him. My gaze locked onto Leonard's face.
He wore a soft cashmere loungewear set, his complexion ruddy. He'd actually gained weight since six months ago.
When he saw me, he only froze for a second before his expression returned to that familiar, superior disgust.
"You shouldn't have come here." Leonard's voice was ice. "Today is the baby's celebration. Did you really have to pick today to ruin everything?"
Baby's celebration? Ruin everything?
Ice flooded through my veins. My teeth chattered uncontrollably. "You're... not dead?"
"Since you've seen it all, no point hiding it anymore." Arthur pulled Claire protectively behind him, as if I carried some virulent disease. "The yacht explosion six months ago—we staged it."
"Why?" I bit down on my lip until I tasted thick, metallic blood. "Why would you lie to me?!"
"Because you're toxic!"
Arthur's voice shot up, his finger jabbing toward my face.
"Six months ago, Claire found out she was pregnant. The doctor said her heart condition couldn't handle any stress! If you'd known she was carrying Leonard's child, you would've made her life hell!"
"That day when you didn't get on the boat because of that sudden pain, we just rolled with it. Detonated the yacht and had Claire pose as the sole survivor! The only way Claire could safely have this baby was to cut you completely out of our lives!"
I felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. Cold seeped from my scalp to my toes.
Because of that?
Because they were afraid I'd be jealous, my own parents, my own brother—they all conspired to stage a mass death, leaving me to play the fool, financially supporting the woman who stole my husband?!
"How could you..." My voice trembled. Tears fell onto the carpet without permission. "How could you leave me alone in hell... for her..."
"How could we?"
Father let out a cold snort and strode toward me, his eyes blazing with contempt.
"Because you've always been petty and self-centered! If we'd told you the truth, you would've torn this family apart!"
"Now you listen here, Briley. This is my last warning. If you dare make a scene and frighten that baby, I'll have security drag you out of here!"
I looked at my biological father's furious face, then at my husband standing off to the side with cold indifference. They felt completely foreign. Repulsive.
It turned out no one in this world had ever loved me.
The tears I'd cried dry, the terminal illness I'd endured alone, even the child I was risking my life to carry—none of it mattered as much to them as Claire's peace of mind.
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