I Became My Twin Sisters’ Guardian After Our Mom’s Death—My Fiancée Pretended to Love Them Until I Heard What She Really Said

I was drowning quietly.

Jenna, on the other hand, appeared to float.

She moved in two weeks after the funeral. She packed lunches, learned braids, found lullabies online. She made it all look effortless. When Maya wrote Jenna’s name as an emergency contact in her notebook, Jenna cried and said she’d always wanted little sisters.

I thought I had been given grace in human form.

I didn’t know I was watching a performance.

Last Tuesday, I came home early from work. The sky was heavy, the kind that presses on your chest before rain. The house looked peaceful. Maya’s bike lay in the yard. Lily’s gardening gloves rested neatly on the porch rail.

Inside, the hallway smelled like cinnamon and glue.

I was halfway in when I heard Jenna’s voice—low, controlled, sharp.

“Girls, you’re not going to be here much longer. So don’t get too attached.”

I stopped breathing.

“I’m not spending my twenties raising someone else’s children,” she continued. “A foster family would be better. When the adoption interview comes up, you’ll tell them you want to leave. Understand?”

Silence. Continue reading…