However, it all made sense I suppose. After all, the moment they discovered Peter came from a wealthy family, they did not hesitate to tell me that I was not the right woman for him. I did not have the profile of a rich man’s woman. According to them, my older sister was worthier than me.
After exchanging pleasantries in the living room, my older sister led Peter into her bedroom. The same bedroom had once been mine.
When I left for college, my sister complained to our parents that her room was too small. My father, ever indulgent of her whims, immediately knocked down the wall between our rooms to give her the combined space she wanted. He did not even consider to ask for my opinion.
He then shoved all my belongings into the storage room.
At that moment, in the place where I once slept, they eagerly tumbled into each other’s arms and started to kiss.
I had no choice but to become a witness to this live display of betrayal.
Afterward, my sister lay on Peter’s chest and with her soft and sweet voice, she asked, "Peter, are you sad that Andrea died?"