She Never Left Chinese Drama

My sister died in a fire incident

Three months later, I married her husband.

It was not for love, It was a deal. He needed someone to raise her son, And I owed his family a big favor.

Now, I live in her house.

Sleep in her bed.

Take care of her child.

But nothing here feels right.

Today was my 27th birthday. I baked myself a small cake and got dressed. I found a soft green dress in the back of the closet. It smelled like flowers and old perfume.

I didn't know it was hers.

I walked downstairs and saw Ash standing there. He's seven years old my nephew. Her son

He looked at me, eyes cold. Why are you wearing my mom's dress?

I didn't know it was hers, I said.

Yes, you did, he said. You want to be her. But you're not.

Then he lifted the cake I made.

Before I could stop him, he threw it in my face.

The frosting was thick and sweet. It dripped into my eyes. I stood still. I couldn't move.

Ash leaned in close and whispered, I wish it was you who died in that fire. Not her.

Then he turned and walked away like nothing happened.

I stood frozen as the cake slid down my face and onto the hardwood floor. The dress her dress was ruined. Vanilla frosting clung to the delicate fabric, leaving stains I knew would never come out. Just like the stain of guilt that clung to my heart.

The front door opened. James, my brother in law husband now walked in. His eyes widened as he took in the scene. They destroyed my cake. My tear streaked, frosting covered face. They ruined my dress.

What happened? he asked, his voice flat. Not concerned, not angry. Just tired. Always so tired since Clara died.

I wiped frosting from my eyes. Just a little birthday mishap.

His face changed as he registered the date. It's your birthday?

I nodded. He had forgotten. Of course he had. In this house, only one woman's special days mattered, and she was gone.

I'm sorry, he said, but the words were hollow. He set his keys down and walked past me, climbing the stairs without another word.

I went to the kitchen to clean myself up. As I scrubbed cake from my skin, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window. For a split second, I thought I saw Clara staring back at me.

We were never identical she was the beautiful one, the charming one, the one who lit up rooms when she entered. I was just me. The quiet sister. The responsible one. The one who always cleaned up Clara's messes.