<Living My Sister’s Life for Revenge>
短文案2个：
短文案1：
"Sis, have you really thought this through? What will happen to him if you’re gone?"
Stacey Elder gazed at the frail figure on the bed. It was her twin sister, Macey, who had been ravaged by years of overwork and an irregular lifestyle. The toll had been devastating—her body succumbed to cancer, and now, she was on the brink of death.
Holding Macey's cold, trembling hand, Stacy whispered, "Macey, remember, from this moment onward, there’s no Stacey Elder in this world—only Macey Elder."
As for Pat Taylor? Why should she care for him anymore?
Macey struggled to speak, but the electrocardiogram beside her began to spike erratically. Moments later, it flattened into a chilling straight line.
The day had come.
When Stacy received her sister’s death certificate, every major news outlet in Canada buzzed with headlines: Pat Taylor was reportedly driven mad.
——
短文案2：
"Sis, have you really thought this through? What will happen to him if you’re gone?"
Stacey Elder gazed at the frail figure on the bed. It was her twin sister, Macey, who had been ravaged by years of overwork and an irregular lifestyle. The toll had been devastating—her body succumbed to cancer, and now, she was on the brink of death.
Holding Macey's cold, trembling hand, Stacy whispered, "Macey, remember, from this moment onward, there’s no Stacey Elder in this world—only Macey Elder."
As for Pat Taylor? Why should she care for him anymore?
Macey struggled to speak, but the electrocardiogram beside her began to spike erratically. Moments later, it flattened into a chilling straight line.
The day had come.
When Stacy received her sister’s death certificate, every major news outlet in Canada buzzed with headlines: Pat Taylor was reportedly driven mad.
——
Just a week earlier, Stacy had made a desperate, life-altering decision.
She switched identities with her sister, replacing "Macey" on all official documents with "Stacy." From that day forward, she chose to live as her sister.
Macey’s tear-streaked face showed both pain and acceptance as she listened to Stacy’s decision. Her voice was barely audible. "I’ve always known you were strong, but you let me lean on you. For years, you’ve borne so much. Now, it’s your turn. Fulfill my final wish, and I’ll go in peace."
"Macey, thank you," Stacy said, her voice breaking.
Macey mustered the faintest smile and nodded weakly before falling asleep again. Her face, though serene, bore a terrifying stillness.
The doctors said she had no more than a week left.
The following day, Stacy made all the necessary arrangements. She even reached out to Macey’s mentor, who was overseas.
"Macey, have you really recovered from your illness?" the mentor asked skeptically. "The rigorous foundation training program isn’t just about going abroad—it’s about dedicating your youth to the nation."
Without hesitation, Stacy replied firmly, "I understand. I’m in excellent health now, and it would be my greatest honor to serve the motherland."
The mentor chuckled softly but sighed deeply, marveling at the resilience of the young woman who, at just 23, had endured so much.
Stacy sensed his concern and reassured him, "Please trust me, Teacher. I can handle everything."
"And your family? Are they on board?"
"Of course," Stacy replied, masking her grief. Soon, she would have no family left to consult.
After Macey’s diagnosis, Stacy had wrestled with despair. What purpose did life hold for someone who was about to become an orphan? But Macey’s dream had remained unfinished.
Macey once said, that there are always those willing to chase the stars and cross the oceans for love, undeterred by hardship.
Stacy resolved to live for her sister.
Once Macey’s affairs were settled, Stacy turned her focus entirely to studying and completing the identity change process.
Then, a cold, curt text message disrupted her concentration:
[Come out.]
It was followed by a location pin.
Chapter 1
"Sis, have you really thought this through? What will happen to him if you’re gone?"
Stacey Elder gazed at the frail figure on the bed. It was her twin sister, Macey, who had been ravaged by years of overwork and an irregular lifestyle. The toll had been devastating—her body succumbed to cancer, and now, she was on the brink of death.
Holding Macey's cold, trembling hand, Stacy whispered, "Macey, remember, from this moment onward, there’s no Stacey Elder in this world—only Macey Elder."
As for Pat Taylor? Why should she care for him anymore?
Macey struggled to speak, but the electrocardiogram beside her began to spike erratically. Moments later, it flattened into a chilling straight line.
The day had come.
When Stacy received her sister’s death certificate, every major news outlet in Canada buzzed with headlines: Pat Taylor was reportedly driven mad.
——
Just a week earlier, Stacy had made a desperate, life-altering decision.
She switched identities with her sister, replacing "Macey" on all official documents with "Stacy." From that day forward, she chose to live as her sister.
Macey’s tear-streaked face showed both pain and acceptance as she listened to Stacy’s decision. Her voice was barely audible. "I’ve always known you were strong, but you let me lean on you. For years, you’ve borne so much. Now, it’s your turn. Fulfill my final wish, and I’ll go in peace."
"Macey, thank you," Stacy said, her voice breaking.
Macey mustered the faintest smile and nodded weakly before falling asleep again. Her face, though serene, bore a terrifying stillness.
The doctors said she had no more than a week left.
The following day, Stacy made all the necessary arrangements. She even reached out to Macey’s mentor, who was overseas.
"Macey, have you really recovered from your illness?" the mentor asked skeptically. "The rigorous foundation training program isn’t just about going abroad—it’s about dedicating your youth to the nation."
Without hesitation, Stacy replied firmly, "I understand. I’m in excellent health now, and it would be my greatest honor to serve the motherland."
The mentor chuckled softly but sighed deeply, marveling at the resilience of the young woman who, at just 23, had endured so much.
Stacy sensed his concern and reassured him, "Please trust me, Teacher. I can handle everything."
"And your family? Are they on board?"
"Of course," Stacy replied, masking her grief. Soon, she would have no family left to consult.
After Macey’s diagnosis, Stacy had wrestled with despair. What purpose did life hold for someone who was about to become an orphan? But Macey’s dream had remained unfinished.
Macey once said, that there are always those willing to chase the stars and cross the oceans for love, undeterred by hardship.
Stacy resolved to live for her sister.
Once Macey’s affairs were settled, Stacy turned her focus entirely to studying and completing the identity change process.
Then, a cold, curt text message disrupted her concentration:
[Come out.]
It was followed by a location pin.
The message was from Pat, the first in over a month. Of course, he was causing trouble again.
By now, whether Pat cared for her or not no longer mattered. Five years of her life had failed to move his heart. She was done trying.
The Taylor family, one of Canada’s wealthiest and most influential clans, had always been steeped in power. Pat’s father was a titan in the business world, and their name carried immense weight.
Five years ago, Stacy’s mother was murdered, embroiled in a lawsuit connected to the Taylor family. Her father, taking the fall for another, died tragically in prison.
Afterward, Stacy was brought to Canada by Alfonso Taylor, Pat's grandfather. At first, the Taylor family treated her kindly, out of respect for the old man. But everything changed when he passed away two years ago.
It became clear that Pat’s past tenderness was nothing but a facade.
Bit by bit, Stacy’s hope and affection for him withered away, leaving only disappointment in their wake.
Chapter 2
She hastily closed her books, hurried back to her apartment, and began packing. Grabbing her violin case, she stepped out into the biting winter cold.
He had insisted that Stacy learn to play the violin, and her hands still bore the calluses from hours of practice.
The snow was falling thick and fast, blanketing the ground in white. The icy wind cut through her coat, seeping into her bones.
Downstairs, he stood under the streetlamp, a black coat draped elegantly over his tall frame, his phone pressed to his ear. He appeared composed, even serene, as if the cold didn’t touch him. When his gaze fell on Stacy, however, a flicker of impatience crossed his sharp, flawless features.
Snowflakes dusted his dark hair, settling like tiny white blooms on his forehead. He noticed and brushed them away, his movements deliberate. She instinctively averted her gaze.
Before Stacy could gather her thoughts, the man ended his call, striding toward her with purpose.
He took her hand, the sudden contact sending a jolt through her. Stacy froze, her mind spinning. Reacting instinctively, she pulled her hand back with too much force.
Pat stopped in his tracks, his expression darkening. She looked up at him, startled, and saw anger etched on his face.
His sharp gaze pinned her in place, his voice cutting through the silence like the winter wind. "Get in the car."
His tone was as cold and unyielding as his icy hands.
Pat Taylor—the only son of the powerful Taylor family—had been spoiled his entire life. Now the head of the family, his authority was absolute, and defiance was rare. His anger was both expected and feared.
Stacy lowered her head, saying nothing, and climbed into the back seat without protest.
As she settled in, she watched him through the window. His face, already clouded with irritation, seemed to grow darker. She couldn’t help but wonder what had upset him this time.
He got into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut with enough force to shake the car.
They drove off quickly, the snow-covered scenery blurring past. Stacy stared out the window, lost in thought. Perhaps he was angry because she had pulled away. Perhaps it was because she had kept him waiting.
Or maybe his anger had no reason at all. It was hard to talk with him.
Her mind wandered. His temper was constant, his irritation frequent. Over time, she had stopped trying to understand him.
Breaking the silence, Pat’s voice was sharp yet casual. "Have you been busy lately? How’s your piano practice coming along?"
The familiar question took Stacy by surprise. She glanced at his profile, her lips curving into a bitter smile.
Her thoughts drifted back to the past. She remembered how captivated she had been by his handsome face when they first met. People said Pat preferred gentle, cultured women—those skilled in piano, chess, calligraphy, and painting.
When he had asked her what she studied in college, Stacy had answered "music," hoping to impress him.
To win his favor, she had taken up the violin. But Pat had dismissed her efforts as inadequate. Determined to make her better, he’d hired a renowned teacher to train her.
All of that felt like a distant memory now.
She touched the violin case beside her and replied quietly, "I’ve been dealing with some things these past two weeks. I didn’t have time to practice."
In truth, she had been too busy taking care of Macey to think about anything else.
The car fell silent again, tension filling the air. Stacy caught sight of Pat’s furrowed brows in the rearview mirror.
Suddenly, he stepped hard on the accelerator. The car lurched forward, and Stacy’s head slammed into the backrest. Pain flared through her nose, and her eyes stung with unshed tears.
Pat glanced at her through the mirror, an enigmatic smile playing on his lips. "Sorry, the road’s slippery," he said, his tone laced with amusement.
Stacy murmured softly, "It’s okay."
Satisfied with her response, he leaned back, his earlier moodiness dissipating. "I’ve been busy with work lately. Go see Tara Hester for me tomorrow."
"Yes," she replied without hesitation.
Tara, once comatose, had always been more important to Pat than Stacy could ever be. Even when Stacy played the violin, it was Tara who listened from her hospital bed.
After Tara’s miraculous recovery, Pat became convinced that Stacy’s playing had contributed to her awakening. Since then, he’d insisted Stacy visit Taylor’s restaurant every few days to play for Tara. This recent gap had been the longest yet.
But Stacy didn’t want to go.
Hearing her agreement, Pat glanced at her through the mirror, his tone softening slightly. "You’ve lost weight."
Stacy offered a faint smile, saying nothing. She thought of Macey. If Pat’s sister were ill, perhaps she would look even more worn out than Stacy did now.
Chapter 3
Stacy never told Pat she had a sister. The fewer people who knew about Macey's work and identity, the fewer problems it would bring. But the truth was, Pat never asked about her family. In his mind, Stacy had always been nothing more than a wild girl from a poor, remote village.
As Stacy watched his retreating figure, a glimmer of hope flickered. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance.
Back then, Macey had returned to America, gravely ill. Stacy hoped Pat could help connect her with a skilled doctor in Canada. But on her way to meet him, she was involved in a car accident. She remained unconscious in the hospital for three days, and by the time she woke up, Macey was gone, leaving only a note behind.
Despite her failing health, Macey had rushed back to continue her experiments, ignoring Stacy's pleas. When the illness finally caught up to her, it was too late—she was diagnosed with advanced cancer, beyond the reach of effective treatment.
Stacy had sent a desperate text to Pat, but his reply came weeks later. By then, everything had changed.
She had once seen Pat outside his company, separated from him by just a single street. She ran to him, hoping for even a shred of acknowledgment, but he drove away without looking back. If only he had cared a little more… would things have turned out differently?
The memory brought a pang of regret. Stacy couldn't forgive herself. The accident had hurt more than just her and Macey; it had shattered what little hope she had left.
Now, standing amidst the aftermath, Stacy no longer blamed Pat. The fault was hers for putting her faith in him, for trusting a man to fix what was broken. She swore she would never make that mistake again.
When they arrived at Taylor’s restaurant, Stacy noticed Jeanie Hoover, the nanny, waiting at the door. She was gently pushing Tara’s wheelchair.
Pat seemed restless. The moment he turned off the car, he urged Stacy to get out quickly. He walked over to Tara and knelt in front of her, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
The pale girl in the wheelchair smiled weakly, but even speaking a few words left her coughing. Against the bitter wind, she looked even more fragile.
"Tara, it’s freezing out here. Who told you to come outside?" Pat’s sharp gaze landed on Jeanie, who flinched under his scrutiny, unsure of how to respond.
Despite the reprimand, Tara’s eyes sparkled with joy. Her voice was gentle as she held Pat’s hand. "Pat, I’m not as weak as you think. I heard you’d be back today, so I came to welcome you."
Pat’s expression softened, the tension in his shoulders melting away. He brushed her hair fondly and pushed her wheelchair inside.
Jeanie lingered, looking uncertain. Stacy placed a reassuring arm around her shoulders and offered her a kind smile.
"Miss Elder, I’ve made some pork rib soup for you. You should drink more later," Jeanie said, her voice warm.
Stacy returned her smile sincerely. Among the Taylor household, Jeanie was the only one who offered her any kindness.
But once inside, reality quickly set in.
Jeanie hurried to the kitchen, emerging moments later with Stacy’s favorite dishes. Just as she was about to invite Stacy to eat, a sharp voice rang out.
"Jeanie, whose servant are you?"
Anna Taylor, mother of Pat, descended the staircase, her tone icy and full of disdain. Stacy wasn’t surprised—she was used to such veiled insults.
Across the room, the figure on the sofa turned toward the commotion. Pat remained silent, but Tara spoke up in a soothing tone.
"Aunt, Stacy is a guest. It’s only natural for Jeanie to take care of her. Don’t be upset."
Stacy nearly laughed at Tara’s words. Her so-called kindness was misplaced. In Anna’s eyes, Stacy wasn’t even worth as much as her prized pets.
Back when Alfonso Taylor was alive, Anna pretended to be polite to Stacy. But after his passing, her true colors surfaced. She immediately drove Stacy out and brought Tara, her beloved niece, into the Taylor household, lavishing her with care.
Anna often sang Tara’s praises in front of Stacy. She would recount how Tara’s goodness had won over even Alfonso Taylor. Yet Stacy knew the truth—Alfonso Taylor had reluctantly agreed to accept Tara only after Stacy spoke on her behalf.
And now, that loyalty had left Stacy with nothing but resentment and regret.
Chapter 4
She had naively believed it, but she was wrong. Tara was far from being a simple, innocent little white rabbit.
Stacy silently set down the violin. It had been a gift from Pat, and she had planned to return it to him today. Over the years, he had given her many gifts, most of which she never used. Some still had their tags attached. One day, she would return them all.
Alfonso Taylor had made him promise to take care of Stacy for the rest of her life before he passed away. But that wish was an impossible burden. Stacy couldn't stay with him forever, and neither could Pat, who was constantly surrounded by women.
When Tara noticed Stacy’s piano, she covered her mouth in mock surprise. “Stacy, are you playing the piano for me again today?”
Before anyone could respond, she turned to Pat, her face lighting up with glee. “Pat, you’re so good to Tara. You knew I was feeling down today, so you called Stacy just for me, didn’t you?”
Pat hesitated briefly, and Stacy lowered her head. She already knew what he was going to say.
Feeling down? That was hard to believe.
Anna, looking pained, took Tara’s hand and sighed dramatically. “My poor Tara. Losing her parents at such a young age. It’s all your aunt’s fault you’ve been left all alone.”
Pat disliked emotional displays, and his expression darkened. “Mom, enough.”
But Anna continued, her voice trembling with feigned sorrow. “It’s not about me. It’s your father. He’s trying to secure Tara a spot to study abroad at Toronto University. They’re treating her unfairly because of her health...”
Toronto? Did Tara also want to go abroad?
As Anna and Tara chatted, Stacy quietly moved to a corner, trying to disappear. Pat noticed and glanced at her way.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said.
Tara smiled, and Anna seized the opportunity. “Pat, Tara doesn’t just want to go abroad. She must study under Professor Morgan. Only as Robin Morgan’s student can she gain the prestige she deserves.”
“Our Tara is determined to join the national team! You have to help her, Pat.”
Pat nodded, and Anna’s face immediately brightened with relief.
When dinner began, Tara couldn’t resist causing another scene.
“Stacy, I feel so down I can’t eat. Could you play something for me? You know I love your piano.”
All eyes turned to Stacy. She paused, then looked up at Pat.
“What’s so hard about that?” Anna chimed in. “Play something for her. Stacy learned all this just for moments like these.”
Anna always spoke like that. Stacy reminded herself to stay calm, to see it as a way of repaying the Taylor family for all they had done for her.
Pat remained indifferent, sitting at the head of the table. “I haven’t heard you play in a while. Go ahead.”
Stacy clenched her fist under the table, her face a calm mask. At least Pat hadn’t said anything else, or she might have foolishly forgiven him again.
It was just a song. She had played for them countless times before. Forcing a bitter smile, she nodded. “Alright.”
When she opened the guitar case, she realized her palm was bleeding. The pain didn’t register. Her vision blurred as she stepped forward to play.
—Sadness and Sorrow
Winter—a season perpetually heavy with grief. The song felt painfully fitting.
If Pat had looked up even once, he might have seen the despair in Stacy’s eyes. But he didn’t.
Stacy didn’t remember finishing the piece; she only heard Jeanie’s voice mentioning blood.
Pat dabbed his mouth with a silk handkerchief, set down his utensils, and walked over. His gaze fell on her injured hand. Without a word, he asked Jeanie to fetch the medicine box.
Chapter 5
Under the light, his eyes held a hint of regret as he gently touched the blood-stained strings.
"This violin is old. I'll have someone replace it for you," he said softly.
In the past, Stacy would have expressed her gratitude with many words. But now, she realized she wasn’t even as important as the violin. All her years of admiration had been nothing but wishful thinking.
A violin could be replaced if it was old or damaged, but what about a person?
Breaking the silence, Tara spoke in a sweet, teasing tone, “Yes, Stacy, good skills deserve a good violin. You didn’t play as beautifully today—it must be because the violin is broken.”
Stacy swallowed back her tears and carefully packed the violin. “There’s no need...”
He reached out and held her hand, his expression questioning.
“I can buy one myself,” Stacy added quietly.
She wasn’t lying. Macey had left her a significant amount of money, and with the funds from the Strong Foundation Project in the future, she could easily afford many violins.
Anna suddenly laughed, her voice mocking. “You? Buy one yourself? With that lousy construction job, how much could you possibly earn? In the end, it’s still Pat who supports you.”
“Mom!” Pat’s tone was sharp, clearly displeased. He couldn’t stand anyone bringing up Stacy’s so-called menial job—it embarrassed him deeply.
Stacy wanted to speak up. Since leaving the Taylor family home, she hadn’t used any of Pat’s money. He had given her jewelry and gifts, but she’d never used them. She earned her own income by doing freelance design work, modeling for sketches, and creating drafts. But compared to Pat’s prestigious job, her work seemed insignificant and wasn’t worth mentioning.
Without another word, Pat went upstairs, his frustration evident. Anna, seeing her son’s reaction, shot Stacy a glare filled with disdain.
It was clear this house had no place for her anymore.
Stacy lost her appetite. Grabbing her bag, she left, deliberately leaving the violin behind. That was the moment she decided she was done. From then on, she considered her debt to Pat fully repaid.
Later, as she waited at the bus stop after leaving the hospital, Tara appeared, wheeling herself out. There was no one behind her, and her fragile demeanor vanished as she stopped pretending. Moving leisurely toward the curb, she finally spoke.
“Stacy,” she said, her voice casual as she admired her perfectly manicured nails, “I heard from my aunt that you’re trying to marry into the Taylor family. Is that true?”
Tara’s posture was relaxed, her tone almost amused. “You should know Pat will never marry you. He’s set on the eldest daughter of the Wiley family—someone far above your status. So stop clinging to him like a desperate snake.”
She smirked and added cruelly, “If you’re interested, I can ask my aunt to introduce you to some wealthy men. With your looks and skills, you’d make a fine mistress.”
Stacy let out a cold laugh, unfazed by Tara’s venom. She glanced at the wheelchair and smirked. “Tara, you’re truly pathetic. To gain sympathy, you’re pretending to be disabled even though you’re clearly cured.”
If Stacy hadn’t caught Tara standing up the other day, she might never have discovered the truth. But Tara showed no fear, her expression composed as ever, her smile unwavering.
Stacy almost admired her audacity—Tara lied as effortlessly as breathing.
“Tara!”
Pat’s voice interrupted them. He emerged from the house, carrying a blanket. Approaching Tara, he draped it over her legs with care.
Tara tilted her face upward, biting her lip as her fingers lightly tugged at the corner of his coat. “Pat, you’re here. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault Stacy played the violin and ruined everyone’s mood at dinner. She seemed unhappy.”
Pat’s eyes shifted toward Stacy, his expression unreadable. She knew what he was thinking, but she didn’t care. Without a word, she turned away, unwilling to look at them any longer.
The snow was falling heavily now. The cold bit on her skin, the road was slick with ice, and the bus was late. Stacy’s legs felt stiff as she stood waiting in the freezing wind.
She assumed they had left when she no longer heard any noise behind her. But then, a voice broke the silence.
“Stacy, Tara is still young, straightforward, and a little immature. You’re always so understanding—”
Chapter 6
Before he could finish speaking, Stacy interrupted him. “I understand.”
Tara was only two years younger than her, yet in his eyes, she was always the little sister—a child to be indulged. And Stacy? She was expected to play the ever-considerate older sister. The Taylor family had always been fiercely protective of their own, even if it meant ignoring inconvenient truths. Tara’s father, after all, had been a convicted drug dealer. Despite that, Anna had always shielded him and tried to soothe the damage to their family’s reputation.
Because of this, Tara was desperate to prove herself, to shake off the shadows of her father’s crimes. And Pat? He bent over backward to help her.
Stacy knew exactly what he meant, but she was tired. Too tired to listen to another lecture.
Pat sighed heavily, his frustration evident as he walked toward his car. “Let’s go. I’ll drive you.”
The white mist curled around him as he lit a cigarette. Pat rarely smoked, but when he did, it was a clear sign that he was in a foul mood—likely because of Tara. Stacy instinctively took two steps back, putting distance between herself and the smoky air.
“There’s no need,” she said.
His expression darkened. He clearly wasn’t used to being disobeyed. “Stacy, playing hard to get doesn’t suit you.”
Stacy tilted her head, a faint, mocking smile on her lips. Did he actually think she was doing this for his attention? The idea was so absurd it almost amused her. Even Pat had moments of self-delusion. How rare.
He was reaching for the car door when the headlights of another vehicle illuminated the driveway, casting sharp shadows across his face. Stacy glanced at the license plate, then calmly slipped into the back seat.
As they pulled away, she caught his expression in the rearview mirror—a mixture of dissatisfaction and something else. In that moment, a dark thought crept into her mind. She imagined how he would look if he ever received her death notice.
There were countless ways to leave, but Stacy had chosen the cruelest. Pat, she thought, you should taste the pain and humiliation I’ve endured. Only then can I feel justified for the years of my wasted sincerity.
On the way back, memories weighed heavily on her, each one a bitter reminder of her unreciprocated efforts. The ache in her chest felt unbearable, but no one could see it. To mask her tears, she rolled down the car window and let the icy wind sting her face. It made the tears less obvious.
When she returned to her apartment, Stacy found a message from Mr. Morgan. All the necessary procedures were complete. She would be free to leave soon.
Within two days, Macey’s account showed a substantial deposit. Macey had wanted Stacy to use the money to start a new life elsewhere, but Stacy had her own plans. She insisted on sticking to them.
Wanting to make her farewell meaningful, Stacy decided to organize something special for Macey at the hospital. But Macey declined, instead asking her to buy things she enjoyed.
That day, Stacy wandered the mall for hours, carefully picking out Macey’s favorite snacks and small trinkets. She was meticulous, choosing only things she knew would bring a smile to her friend’s face.
But when she passed by a maternity and baby store, something drew her inside.
The clerk, a young woman with a professional smile, greeted her warmly. “Hello! Are you shopping for your baby? Would you like some assistance?”
For once, Stacy didn’t deflect or walk away. She hesitated before asking, “What size clothes would fit a one-year-old baby?”
The clerk picked up a tiny winter coat decorated with festive Christmas patterns. “Is it for a boy or a girl?”
Stacy froze for a moment, caught off guard. Finally, she murmured, “A girl.”
The clerk asked about the baby’s height, but Stacy could only shake her head. When the clerk asked if she had any photos, Stacy waved her off with a faint, awkward smile. Feeling the clerk’s curious gaze, Stacy abandoned the idea of buying clothes and settled for a small, delicate toy instead.
As she headed to the cashier, something unexpected caught her eye—a familiar wheelchair.
“Stacy! It’s really you!”
The voice made her freeze. Turning, she saw Tara rolling toward her, excitement lighting up her face. “Aunt, Sandra, come here! Look who I found!”
Tara didn’t stop there. She whipped out her phone, ready to snap pictures.
Anger surged through Stacy, and without thinking, she stepped forward, reaching for the phone.
“Tara, stop!” she hissed, her voice low but furious.
“Stacy, don’t you dare!” Tara shot back, clutching the phone tighter as if it were her lifeline.
Chapter 7
In the next moment, Stacy was shoved forcefully by Anna. The items she had been holding flew out of her hands, scattering to the ground with a loud clatter.
A girl quickly stepped forward to help her up. Stacy looked at the face—one she knew far too well. She had seen it countless times in photos in Pat’s room, a face she could never forget.
"Are you okay?" The girl asked, her voice soft and gentle.
Anna threw Stacy a disdainful glare, her irritation evident. But before she could say anything, the girl tightened her grip on Stacy's hand and spoke with enthusiasm.
“You’re Stacy, aren’t you? I didn’t expect to run into you here! Pat talks about you often. He mentioned that you’re an excellent pianist. I’m having a birthday party next week—would you consider performing?”
She was beautiful, elegant, and carried an air of nobility. This was clearly the kind of person Pat admired. Stacy could barely process her words. Her mind buzzed with a single, overwhelming thought: So this is the kind of woman Pat truly wants.
Before the girl could finish speaking, Stacy shoved some cash at the clerk and bolted out of the store, her panic mounting with every step.
Her sudden departure might not have mattered to others, but it set Anna on edge. Later that evening, fueled by Tara’s dramatic account of the encounter, Anna stormed into Pat’s office to confront him.
Inside, Anna’s voice rang out, sharp and accusatory. “Pat, didn’t you promise me you’d stop entertaining the idea of marrying her? You don’t even like her, so why are you still involved with her?”
Pat rubbed his temples, already frustrated. “Mom, what are you even talking about? I’m busy, and I told you not to show up here unannounced.”
Anna’s face twisted in disbelief. “Stacy was at a maternity store today, buying baby clothes! Tara said she might be pregnant. Don’t tell me you don’t know about this!”
Pat stiffened, his voice flat. “That’s impossible, Mom. There’s nothing between us anymore. Stop jumping to conclusions.”
Still skeptical, Anna pulled out her phone and shoved it toward him, showing him a photo. The moment Pat saw it, he shot to his feet, grabbing his coat without a word.
Anna followed close behind, her thoughts spinning. Judging by his reaction, it seemed clear that he had no idea about Stacy’s situation.
“Good,” Anna muttered, almost to herself. “It’s not yours. I knew it. Stacy is nothing but an ungrateful girl. She’s probably hooked up with someone else and tried to pin it on you!”
Her voice rose as she continued. “Tara’s friend saw her at the hospital several times. Imagine, a young girl pregnant out of wedlock! She’s shameless. There’s no way we can let someone like that into our Taylor family.”
Pat’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles white as his anger burned hotter with every word Anna uttered. By the time they reached Stacy’s apartment—a drive that should’ve taken thirty minutes but was done in ten—his fury was barely contained.
The doorbell rang urgently. Stacy, assuming it was someone from the furniture recycling company, opened the door without hesitation. She froze when she saw Pat’s stormy expression.
Anna pushed past her, wrinkling her nose in disgust as she looked around the modest apartment.
“What’s going on?” Stacy asked, her gaze shifting warily between them.
Pat stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room, noting the packed bags scattered across the floor. “Are you moving?”
Stacy gave a casual nod, confused by the tension in the air.
The anger in Pat’s expression deepened. Before Stacy could process his reaction, Anna’s sharp voice cut through the silence.
“Look at her, Pat! Stacy’s got everything planned for her shameless little adventure. She’s probably hoping some unsuspecting fool will take her in! Do you really think anyone else in Hamilton would want a girl like her? And now, pregnant on top of it all!”
Those words clicked something into place for Stacy. Anna’s behavior, the accusations—it all made sense now.
Pat’s voice was low and strained as he spoke, his emotions barely restrained. “Stacy, when did this start?”
Stacy let out a bitter laugh, finding the situation almost absurd. “I have nothing to say.”
Pat’s temper snapped. He grabbed her wrist with more force than necessary, his eyes blazing. “You’d better not let me find out who he is.”
The pain in her wrist was sharp, but Stacy remained silent, her face stoic. If he wanted to jump to conclusions, let him. She’d tried explaining herself before, but it had never mattered. He had still turned his back on her, throwing her out of the Taylor family.
So why should she explain now?
Chapter 8
Anna pulled her son closer, gently patting his back as if to console him. “Alright, if she’s determined to throw her life away, no one can stop her. But from now on, Stacy, you’re forbidden from using the Taylor family name to your advantage.”
“I’ll arrange for someone to send you money later,” Anna continued, her tone sharp but matter-of-fact. “It’s the least I can do to honor your grandfather’s wishes.”
Stacy’s lips curved into a faint, bitter smile. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but her voice remained steady as she softly shook her head. “Thank you, Taylor family, for the five years of care. But I don’t want Grandpa’s money. You can keep it. Please leave.”
When Stacy turned away, she discreetly wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. She didn’t look back but heard Pat’s furious roar behind her.
“Stacy, don’t even think about it! You’re staying in the Taylor family, whether you like it or not. You’re mine, and no one in Canada would dare touch you!”
The sound of the door slamming echoed through the room, and silence quickly followed. Without the heating turned on, the space was bitterly cold. Stacy crouched on the floor, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth.
That evening, Stacy received a call from the hospital. Macey wasn’t expected to survive the night.
By Macey’s bedside, the same question came up again. Stacy’s answer, as always, was unwavering.
A pale, fragile smile crossed Macey’s face, tears mixing with her laughter. It was Halloween, and the world outside bustled with lively festivities. But inside the ward, the quiet was oppressive. Stacy stayed at her side, watching helplessly as Macey’s life slipped away.
Her passing marked the end of everything Stacy had known in Canada.
After the funeral, Stacy booked her plane ticket.
Before leaving, she sent Pat one final message.
She asked to meet him at the cemetery. When she left her apartment, the rain was pouring heavily. Dressed in a black coat, Stacy carried offerings and a bouquet of flowers adorned with lollipops. She emphasized in her message that this meeting was important and urged him to come.
But when she arrived at the cemetery, there was no sign of him.
Stacy stood in the rain, waiting. The downpour soaked her shoes and seeped through her coat, the cold biting into her skin. Her eyes mirrored the chill, growing distant and hollow as time passed.
With only two hours left before her flight, she was about to send a follow-up message when Pat finally called.
She answered, placing the call on speaker.
“Stacy, couldn’t we have just talked about this over the phone?” His voice was casual, even cheerful.
Her expression darkened. “So, you’re not coming?”
“Oh, right,” Pat replied lightly. “I forgot to tell you. It’s Christmas, and I’m celebrating with Tara and Sandra Wiley. Let’s talk later tonight after dinner, okay?”
In the background, someone called his name, their tone affectionate. Stacy replied with a faint “yes” and hung up the call.
She turned her attention to the tombstone in front of her, where photos of her parents were displayed. This was a place she often visited to pay her respects.
She set the bouquet beside a small flower bed near the tombstone and pulled a small safety charm from her bag, attaching it gently to the grave marker.
“Baby, you would’ve been one year old today,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Time flies, doesn’t it? I’m sorry, but Mom won’t be able to visit you anymore. At least you won’t be lonely, with Grandpa and Grandma there to keep you company.”
Her tone turned bitter as she continued, “I wanted you to see your father, to make sure you’d know to avoid him in your next life. But he didn’t come. At least you heard his voice. That’s enough. Remember, don’t ever cross paths with him again.”
The unborn child was the third victim of the car accident.
Stacy often regretted what had happened, though part of her also felt relief. The baby had been a mistake born of Pat’s fleeting affection, and fate had simply taken back what was never hers to begin with.
She wiped the rain from the flower bed with her sleeve, then placed her umbrella on top of it. Turning back to the cold stone, she ran her fingers over its surface.
“Dad, Mom, Macey’s gone now,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “I know you must be as heartbroken as I am. But don’t worry. I’ll live on—for her, for all of us. You’ll support me, won’t you?”
Her hand lingered on the stone for a moment before she pulled away. “Goodbye. Take care of each other.”
As she left the cemetery, the rain began to let up.
On the drive to the airport, the city’s vibrant Christmas decorations came into view. Neon lights from the street shops sparkled, and elaborately adorned Christmas trees lined the roads, their tiny lights twinkling in celebration.
Pat was likely seated in a high-end restaurant, basking in the warmth of the festive season.
At the airport, Stacy made a call. Her expression softened into a smile that felt like a long-lost treasure.
Afterward, she swapped out her phone card, boarded her flight, and disappeared completely.
In Canada, the only trace left of her was the news of her passing.
