After Rebirth, I Outplayed My Manipulative Older Sister Chapter 01
When Dad brought his illegitimate daughter home, I was eating oranges in the living room.
“This is Georgia, your sister. She’s three months older than you. She’ll live here from now on.”
A girl stood in the entryway—faded, overwashed school uniform, big doe eyes, and a timid, skittish air about her.
“Hello, Mrs. Dalhy. Hello, Cora.” Her voice was soft as a mosquito’s hum. “I… I hope I’m not intruding.”
Mom sat on the sofa, her face ashen, nails digging into her palms.
I kept peeling the orange and said nothing.
In my past life, I’d been fooled by that exact act.
I’d felt sorry for her. Being an illegitimate child wasn’t her choice.
Her mother had just died, and she knew no one in a strange place. So I generously shared my bedroom with her.
And what happened?
Two weeks.
It only took two weeks for the whole family to think I was bullying her.
But in this life, I’d never let her get her way again!
***
At the dinner table, she served Dad meat while eating only plain white bread herself.
Dad glared at me with a stern face, “Look at Georgia, then look at you.”
She ranked top ten in her grade, while I ranked top fifty.
Later, Dad told everyone he met, “My older daughter’s the go-getter. The younger one only knows how to mess around.”
My allowance was cut off to buy her study materials.
My birthday party was canceled too.
Because she said seeing celebrations made her sad, reminded her of her late mother.
I got into a top-tier high school, but Dad made one phone call and gave my spot to her.
“Georgia’s foundation is weak. You can get a good education anywhere.”
The year I graduated high school, she cried that she couldn’t bear to part with me. So Dad changed my college application from Harbourfront to the local university in our city.
When I brought my boyfriend home for the first time, she locked herself in her room. The next morning, she came out with red, puffy eyes and said she envied how much I was loved.
Word got back to my future mother-in-law through the grapevine. She called off the engagement, saying my family situation was just too complicated.
At thirty-two, I’d saved enough for a down payment to move out.
She handed all her savings to Dad, sobbing uncontrollably, “If Cora moves out, this family will fall apart.”
I never bought the house.
Dad slammed his fist on the table, “Georgia gave all her hard-earned money. And you want to go enjoy yourself? How could you be this ungrateful?”
At forty, I was a clerk at a small company, making five thousand dollars a month.
Unmarried, childless, with no house of my own.
And her? She was a department manager at a bank, married to a government employee, with a son and a daughter, living in a luxury penthouse downtown.
During holidays, she’d show up with a carton of milk, and the whole family would sing her praises.
I washed dishes in the kitchen while she chatted with Dad in the living room.
“Dad, why is Cora still single? You know, there’s a security guard at my office. Divorced, two kids. He’s a pretty decent guy.”
Dad said, “Sounds good. Set it up.”
That night, I stared at the greasy water swirling round and round in the sink, wondering how my life had turned out like this.
Later, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.
I couldn’t afford chemotherapy.
She launched a fundraiser on social media: [Stay strong, Cora. I’ll always love you.]
She raised over thirty thousand dollars. Her own donation? Five hundred.
The day I died, she posted another one: [The person who loved me most is gone. Cora, let’s still be sisters in our next life.]
Over nine hundred likes.
Sister of the year.
I read that post several times, then closed my eyes.
When I opened them again, I was sixteen.
