The Neglected Daughter's Last Stand

Name: The Neglected Daughter's Last Stand
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Gavin

Short stories | Completed

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The voicemail clicked, just like the ninety-eighth one had. My family was busy celebrating my adopted sister Molly' s "Sweet 19" birthday, completely forgetting my own diagnosis: Acute Myeloid Leukemia, terminal, a week at most. When I tried to quietly arrange my death benefits at Social Security, they stormed in, furious. My father bellowed about me embarrassing them on Molly's birthday, my mother sneered at my "cheap" hospital report, accusing me of faking illness for attention. Then Molly, ever the actress, cried crocodile tears, begging me to stop lying. As blood streamed from my nose onto the floor, I declared to the horrified clerk: "I have no family." Back in the house that was never a home, Molly sweet-talked me into baking her a peanut butter pie for her party – fully aware of her severe peanut allergy that I' d been blamed for years ago. Exposed, she shrieked, faking a fall, and my father's fist found my face, sending me sprawling, blood mixing with old tears. He roared for me to get out, hurling a beer bottle that grazed my temple as I fled. Penniless and bleeding, I collapsed in a grimy motel room, waiting to die alone. Then Molly arrived, dropping her innocent act to gloat. Her chilling confession laid bare years of malicious manipulation – the faked allergy, the bullying, the constant torment designed to make them choose her over me. "You'll die alone," she sneered, kicking me while I was down, "and I'll have everything." She didn't see my old laptop recording her confession, or the email I sent to my family with the subject line: "The Truth."

Family Betrayal Revenge Rebirth/Reborn Drama

Chapter 10

06-24 14:42

Introduction

My father bellowed about me embarrassing them on Molly's birthday, my mother sneered at my "cheap" hospital report, accusing me of faking illness for attention. Then Molly, ever the actress, cried crocodile tears, begging me to stop lying. As blood streamed from my nose onto the floor, I declared to the horrified clerk: "I have no family."

Back in the house that was never a home, Molly sweet-talked me into baking her a peanut butter pie for her party – fully aware of her severe peanut allergy that I' d been blamed for years ago. Exposed, she shrieked, faking a fall, and my father's fist found my face, sending me sprawling, blood mixing with old tears. He roared for me to get out, hurling a beer bottle that grazed my temple as I fled.

Penniless and bleeding, I collapsed in a grimy motel room, waiting to die alone. Then Molly arrived, dropping her innocent act to gloat. Her chilling confession laid bare years of malicious manipulation – the faked allergy, the bullying, the constant torment designed to make them choose her over me.

"You'll die alone," she sneered, kicking me while I was down, "and I'll have everything." She didn't see my old laptop recording her confession, or the email I sent to my family with the subject line: "The Truth."