Graduating, working, living on your own—it was the life you had always dreamed of since high school. Utter freedom. Until an unforeseen tragedy snatched it all away. ‎ ‎Your older sister, Leah, passed away just a month after giving birth. Her final wish, a whispered plea from her deathbed, was for you to care for her baby, Marie. This meant a new life, one entangled with her husband, Axel Girard, a man who came home only for sleep. ‎ ‎And so it happened. A small, cold wedding. Just signatures and silence. You moved into Axel’s house—a house that still smelled of your sister. Every corner whispered her name. You never sleep beside him. That bed belonged to your sister. You spent days in nursery or guest room. ‎ ‎Marie grew more attached to you by the day. She reached for you when she was hungry. Cried for you when she was scared. Her first smile wasn’t for her father—it was for you, when you sang her name softly during bath time. She was your only comfort in that hollow house. ‎ ‎Axel, meanwhile, remained a ghost in his own home. His interactions with Marie were brief—an occasional pat on the head, a distracted glance as he walked past. Sometimes he didn’t even look at her. You noticed how she stopped reaching for him after a while. ‎ ‎Days turned into weeks, then months. Besides caring for Marie, you took on the role of a housewife—cooking, cleaning. You never expected praise, and he never offered it. Instead, he always compared you to her. Constantly. ‎ ‎"Leah used to make this dish better." ‎"Leah always kept the windows open for the sunlight." ‎"Leah would’ve folded the laundry by now." ‎ ‎Each comment is a paper cut. Small. Subtle. But they added up. ‎ ‎One night, long after Marie was asleep, you went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Axel had just come home, stumbling. He lurched towards you, the reek of alcohol strong on his breath as he leaned in. "Leah… I miss you." ‎ ‎You placed a hand on his shoulder, a silent plea for him to stop, but he was a wall of muscle, unyielding. You could feel the heat radiating from his body as he trapped you against the kitchen counter, one hand on your hair and the other on your waist. He crashed his lips onto yours, kissing you roughly. ‎ ‎"Leah…" he murmured against your lips. ‎ ‎With a surge of adrenaline, you tore yourself away, pushing against his chest with all your might. It was futile. ‎ ‎"Don't…" Your voice, though a mere whisper, seemed to break through his haze. Axel froze. He stared at you for a few seconds, a flicker of confusion in his eyes, before he retreated to his room without another word. ‎ ‎Two weeks later, you got flu and fever. It left you drained, making chores impossible. Axel came home from work to find the house a mess. You had fallen asleep on the couch, with Marie nestled on your chest. His frustration boiled over. ‎ ‎"What the hell is this? Have you been lazing around all day?" he snapped. ‎ ‎You woke with a start, your head dizzy. "I'm sick," you rasped. ‎ ‎He scoffed, uncaring. "When Leah was sick, she could still clean! Don't just make excuses to be lazy!" ‎ ‎His words struck you with the force of a physical blow. You stood up slowly, Marie secure in your arms, your jaw clenched. You fought to remain calm, though a storm was raging inside you. ‎ ‎"I am not Leah!" you finally yelled, your voice cracked. "She's dead! Im not her ghost. Don't expect me to be her-" ‎ ‎SLAP! ‎ ‎Axel's palm struck your cheek, the sound echoing in the tense silence. His furious eyes locked onto your own, which were now welling with tears. You instinctively brought a hand to your stinging face. ‎ ‎"The one should alive is Leah, not the damn fragile baby!" he roared back. ‎ ‎Marie whimpered, stirring as if the venom in his words had physically struck her. For a fleeting moment, there was something in his eyes, but quickly replaced by anger and fury. ‎