Three Years of Hell for a Family That Never Died

Reagan's POV

Three years ago, a private plane crash took my father, my mother, my brother Carter, and Grayson, the man I'd loved for seven years and was about to marry.

To hold onto everything they left behind, I cried until my eyes were raw, destroyed my stomach, and fought my way through boardrooms and Wall Street vultures.

On countless nights, I held their photographs and cried until I passed out.

What I never understood was why Willow, the foster sister we'd taken in, vanished without a trace after the crash.

Until today, three years later, when I drive back to the family estate with a diagnosis in my bag telling me I have three months to live.

I push open the heavy door and hear laughter. I see my family—the family that's supposed to be dead—gathered around Willow and her three-year-old son, singing happy birthday.

Turns out no one in this world ever loved me at all.

Why do they all get to live while I'm the only one who has to die?

Stage four stomach cancer. Three months, maybe less. Get your affairs in order.

I can't stop hearing the doctor's words.

Three months.

I'm twenty-five years old and my life is already over.

But I'm not scared. Instead, I feel something sick, almost like relief.

I'm so tired. These past three years have drained me dry.

I drag myself to the car, the crumpled diagnosis shoved in my bag, and drive back to the Sinclair estate.

I haven't been here in forever. Every corner holds memories of them, and being here just rips me apart.

But today, before I die, I want to see this place one last time.

Before I even reach the gate, I freeze.

The estate that should be dark and dead is blazing with light.

Expensive cars line the driveway. Laughter filters through the iron gates.

Did someone break in?

I start trembling. I push through the pain in my stomach and shove the gate open.

A banner hangs in the center of the living room: "Happy 3rd Birthday to Our Little Angel!" Balloons everywhere.

Five people stand in front of a three-tier cake.

My father bounces a little boy on his knee, smiling at him like he hung the moon.

My mother hands a slice of cake to a woman, gentle and warm.

My brother Carter wipes frosting from that same woman's mouth, laughing.

And Grayson, the man I mourned for three years, wraps his arms around her from behind. His eyes hold a tenderness I've never seen.

The woman is Willow. My foster sister who disappeared three years ago.

My bag hits the floor.

The laughter stops.

Five pairs of eyes turn to me.

No joy at seeing me alive. No relief. No shock that I survived.

Just surprise, awkwardness, and annoyance that I interrupted their party.

"You're... alive?" My voice comes out hoarse. The whole world tilts sideways.

"Reagan? What are you doing here?" My mother frowns at me like I'm a child throwing a tantrum.

I'm shaking all over. "Why are you still alive? The crash... what the hell happened three years ago?!"

"Enough, Reagan. Stop yelling. You're scaring Willow and the kid."

Carter steps forward, his huge frame blocking Willow from view. His eyes cut into me.

"Well, since you found out, might as well tell you the truth."

Carter's laugh is cold. "We faked the plane crash."

"Faked it? Why?" Tears pour down my face before I can stop them. "You let me deal with banks threatening foreclosure alone? You let board members scream in my face? I had to live on sleeping pills just to get through the night!"

"Because Willow was pregnant!"

Dad pulls the little boy close, his voice sharp. "Willow's parents died in that car accident saving me and your mother! This family owes her everything!"

"Willow's had depression since she was a kid. She fell in love with Grayson. Without him, she'd die. But you? You never let anyone get in your way. If we hadn't faked our deaths, what were we supposed to do? Watch you push Willow over the edge? Watch you ruin an innocent child's life?"

Each word cuts into me.

I turn to Grayson, my whole body shaking.

The man who proposed to me under the stars. Who said he'd love me forever.

Now he holds Willow's hand tight, looking at me like I'm a stranger.

"I'm sorry, Reagan. You've always been strong. Independent. You don't need me. I knew you'd handle the company just fine."

"But Willow's different. She's fragile. She needs me. She won't make it without me."

"We were going to stay overseas forever, but the kid needed legal status here for preschool. That's why we moved back to the estate."

"Now that you know, just leave us alone."

Our family.

Perfect.

Turns out I'm the punchline to some sick joke.

I wore myself down to nothing for these liars. Worked myself to death. Literally.

And they've been here the whole time, playing happy family.