My sister stole my husband while I was pregnant. When her world crumbled, she came to me for help. Here’s how I finally stood up for myself—and my future.
All my life, I was always second best. No matter what I did, I was never enough for my parents. I brought home straight A’s, kept my room spotless, and worked hard to make them proud.
But none of it mattered.
My younger sister, Stephanie, was their golden child. While I was quietly excelling in school and handling chores without being asked, she was winning medals at swim meets.
To my parents, she was a star. They spent every spare moment praising her, cheering for her, living through her. I faded into the background.
The only person who ever truly saw me was my grandmother. Her home was the only place I felt loved. She gave me the warmth and attention I never got from my parents.
In many ways, she raised me. I spent summers and weekends with her—learning to cook, watching old movies, and finally feeling like I mattered.
When I graduated high school, my parents didn’t even pretend to care. They told me I was on my own and kicked me out.
It was my grandmother who helped me move into my college dorm after I earned a scholarship. That scholarship was my only way out. Once I turned 18, I stopped accepting money from her. She had done enough. When I finally got a good job after college, I was proud to give back.
Eventually, I married Harry. My grandmother never liked him. She always said something about him felt off. But I believed he loved me.
Lately, she hadn’t been feeling well, so I visited. As we sat at her kitchen table sipping tea, she stirred her cup slowly and then looked me in the eye.
“Are you still with Harry?”
I froze. “Of course,” I said. “We’re married.”
“And his affairs?” she asked quietly.
I shifted uncomfortably. Her words stung more than I wanted to admit. “He promised he’d change,” I said.
“Do you believe him?”
“I’m trying. He says he loves me. I have to believe that. I’m pregnant. I want my child to have a father.”
Her expression didn’t change. “That’s not love, May.”
“He sees me,” I said weakly.
“Then why does he spend more time with your parents and Stephanie than with you?”
I looked away. “I talk to them too. Just not as often.”
She sighed. “I hate to upset you, but a friend of mine saw Harry and Stephanie out together. At a restaurant.”
My heart dropped. I couldn’t breathe. “What are you saying?”
“Maybe Stephanie couldn’t stand seeing you happy,” she said gently.
“That’s ridiculous!” I snapped, my heart pounding. “I don’t want to talk about this!”
I stormed out, her voice trailing behind me. “May, I’m only trying to help.”
I drove home, seething. How could she say something so cruel?
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