That night, we trailed Edmond and Philip back home. Philip barely got through the door before kicking off his shoes and collapsing on the couch.

"Ariel, I'm starving!"

He'd spent all day sucking up to Keyla, then came home barking orders.

Ariel clenched her jaw. "He treats me like a maid."

I gave her a pat. Ever since we married into the Jahns, the good stuff never made it to us. We cooked, cleaned, did laundry—and didn't even get a paycheck.

We weren't wives. We were unpaid help.

Philip yelled a few more times. When Ariel didn't jump like usual, he stomped upstairs, muttering the whole way.

"You've got such a bad attitude. I'm always apologizing to Keyla because of you. Can't you be more understanding? She's just our little sister. Why are you so jealous?"

Unreal. What kind of "little sister" shares a spoon with her brothers or curls up in their laps to game?

But Edmond and Philip kept spinning that lie—until they actually bought it.

Still grumbling, Philip swung open their bedroom door. Dark.

"Edmond, she's not here."

Annoyed, Edmond checked our room. Empty. He pulled out his phone and called me.

This time, it was my turn to ignore the call.

They both kept dialing. No answer. Philip lost it and chucked his phone across the room.

"A few comments and they're already running off? Not picking up? Fine! Let's see how long they last!"

He spat on the floor, fuming. Just like always—so quick to assume we were the problem. That we were overreacting. Again.

Edmond didn't throw his phone, but the way he stood—rigid, jaw tight—said plenty.

Before, I'd be spiraling. Wondering what I did, what set him off.

But now? There's no one left to ask.

While Philip kept ranting, Ariel just stared, eyes wide, like blinking might break her. But the tears came anyway.

I didn't say a word—just pulled her in and let her cry.

This was our reality now. Marriages that meant nothing.

Next morning, Edmond and Philip headed to the station. Since no one had ID'd us yet, Edmond couldn't start the autopsy. All he could do was collect DNA for comparison.

Oh, and it just happened to be Keyla's birthday.

Before their shift was even over, Philip slung an arm around Edmond.

"So, what'd you get Keyla this year? She always loves your gifts. Hook me up with some ideas?"

Ariel and I just watched them, stone-faced.

She let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "We were fooled from the start."

I laughed too. Neither of us even knew Keyla's birthday was today.

Every year around this time, Edmond and Philip claimed they were slammed at work. We never questioned it.

Guess our trust made it easy to lie.

Before heading to Keyla's, they called us—habit, probably.

We didn't pick up. Philip cursed and chucked his phone. Edmond didn't even try. Just sent a text.

One word: [Overtime].

Couldn't even come up with a fresh excuse.

Since she was "injured," Keyla wheeled herself to the door—but botched it and crashed into something.

Edmond didn't flinch. Just bent down and scooped her up like it was nothing.

Even Philip blinked. So did I.

That was the kind of tenderness he gave his so-called "little sister," while I—his wife—never got close.

To Edmond, even our unborn baby came second to Keyla.

They went all out for Keyla's birthday. She threw a fake tantrum, downed too many drinks, and even though they were on duty, Edmond and Philip hovered around her like she was gonna break.

Tea, water, nonstop worrying.

Watching them fawn over her made my chest tighten. I glanced at Ariel.

"I need a comedy."

"Same."

Back when we were alive, dumb comedies were our go-to—blankets, snacks, full-on giggles.

But there's no laughing in the afterlife.

Edmond and Philip guarded her like she was made of glass. I wondered if they'd still be playing knight once the truth hit.

I remembered the day she took us—how she just stood there, watching us panic. She let us hope. Then crushed it.

Straight-up evil.

The next morning, maybe out of guilt, Edmond and Philip hit us up again after leaving Keyla's.

When we still didn't answer, Philip started looking thrown.

"Ariel's never stayed mad this long. Don't you think it's kinda extreme?"

For a sec, I thought—finally. Maybe his detective brain was kicking in. Maybe he'd realize we didn't just ghost them out of spite.

Then the phone rang.

Edmond's autopsy request got approved.

Boom—conversation over. They ditched the topic and bolted back to the station.

We followed.