After my parents divorced, they dumped my younger sister, Chloe, on me. I had just turned eighteen. I didn't want her to suffer the broken home trauma I did, so I shielded her. I gave her everything. When she bombed her SATs, I liquidated my savings to send her abroad. I worked three jobs to fund her doctorate. When she returned as a high-earning Ivy League grad, I was dying. The stress and overwork had given me terminal cancer. She was making six figures a month, but she wouldn't give me a dime for treatment. "Harper, didn't you teach me that self-care comes first? Paying for your chemo would really impact my quality of life." A month later, as I lay rotting in a hospice bed, I saw her Instagram post. A photo of her and our parents in front of a new mansion. Caption: Reunited at last. Bought this villa for Mom, Dad, and the inner child in me. Before I took my last breath, I received a 30,000-word email from her. It was a manifesto of how much she hated me. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back. Back to the day I took her in. This time, I’m not going to be the savior. Let’s see how you survive without my wallet, Chloe. 1. "Harper, she's your flesh and blood. You're the older sister; you have to step up. Who else is going to take her?" I looked at the girl standing in front of me, head down, looking meek and terrified. I listened to my mother’s gaslighting, and I realized I was back. In my past life, my relationship with my parents was toxic. They cut me off the moment I turned eighteen. My tuition, my rent—I earned every cent by scrubbing floors and waiting tables. They never cared if I starved. But the moment I landed a stable corporate job, they reappeared, demanding I raise their "mistake." In my last life, I looked at Chloe and saw myself. I softened. I promised to break the cycle. I raised her with "Gentle Parenting." I gave her money, freedom, and unconditional love. I raised her to be confident and bright, while I worked myself into an early grave. And she repaid me by letting me die, terrified that my medical bills would cut into her shopping budget. She claimed her failures were my fault. That I was too lenient. That she could have gone to Harvard if I had pushed her harder. Fine. "I didn't give birth to her," I said, my voice cold. "You wanted a second kid to fix your marriage. You fix this." I shoved Chloe out the door and slammed it shut. Muffled screaming and crying echoed from the hallway. I remembered her manifesto. She said we should be selfish. Okay, Chloe. Message received. This time, I’m keeping all my love for myself. 2. I opened the door the next morning to leave for work. Chloe was curled up on my welcome mat, shivering. She jumped up, face red, stuttering. "Harper... Mom and Dad don't want me. I only have you." She sounded like a wounded animal. It was hard to connect this trembling child to the arrogant woman who watched me die. But I knew the truth. I locked the deadbolt. "Not my problem, Chloe. I’m not your legal guardian. I have zero obligation to help you." I walked past her to the elevator. I didn't expect her to follow me to the edge of the complex. When we reached the busy sidewalk, she dropped to her knees. "Harper, please! If you don't take me in, I’ll just die right here!" Passersby stopped. Phones came out. The whispering started. "Oh, go ahead and die then," I said. I tried to walk away, but she lunged and wrapped her arms around my leg. "Harper, you used to care! You're not like this!" It was true. I used to be a doormat. I used to tell her to study hard so she could escape our parents. I didn't know she was screenshotting those texts and sending them to Mom and Dad, painting me as the villain who was "corrupting" her. The crowd was growing. People were recording. I sighed. I knew how this game worked. "Get up. We'll talk inside." 3. Once the door closed, the act dropped. She looked at me with wide, expectant eyes. "Harper, I'll move out as soon as I finish high school." "You can stay," I said, cutting her off. "But you pay rent. I’m not paying for your food, your clothes, or your school supplies. Ask Mom and Dad, or get a job." Chloe panicked. "But I'm a Junior! I have AP classes from 8 AM to 4 PM. I can't work!" I laughed. "When I was your age, I opened the bakery at 5 AM and closed the diner at midnight. I made it work." In the last life, I bought her the trendy sneakers so she wouldn't feel left out. She later wrote that the shoes were "the wrong color" and caused her lifelong trauma. "If you don't have rent by the first of the month," I said, grabbing my purse, "I'm calling the cops to have you removed for trespassing." I left for work. Halfway there, my phone buzzed. A Venmo notification from Mom. Here’s some cash. Don’t be hard on your sister. She’s just a kid. Six years. She remembered my account info, but never used it to ask how I was. I wiped a tear. Not for them, but for the little girl inside me who still wanted a mother. I accepted the money. Then I texted back: This doesn't even cover rent. Send another three grand. She did. I didn't spend a dime on Chloe. I went to the mall. I bought a new wardrobe. I bought high-quality skincare. I put the rest into gold bars and a high-yield savings account. Everyone betrays you. Money doesn't. I’m going to stack cash until Chloe graduates, and then I’m moving to Hawaii. 4. I came home carrying shopping bags and a bucket of Shake Shack. Chloe was pacing the living room. She froze when she saw the burger. "Harper... that smells so good. Can I have a bite? I haven't eaten all day." She was playing the poverty card. In the last life, I took her to Michelin-star restaurants to broaden her horizons. "No," I said, sitting on the couch and taking a bite. "I’m starving. If you're hungry, boil some pasta." Silence. Then, she eyed my shopping bags. "Must be nice to buy pretty clothes. The kids at school call me a hillbilly because I dress like this." I chewed my fry slowly. I knew the script. She wanted me to feel guilty and take her shopping. In the past, I spent three months' salary to make her look like a princess. She later claimed that dressing her up made her lose focus on her studies. "Well," I said, "the kids at school are right. You do look tacky." "If you want to be popular, maybe stop focusing on your looks and focus on your grades." Chloe’s eyes went red. She stormed into the guest room. Before I went to bed, I slid $500 under her door—money Mom had sent. "This is from Mom. Buy your own food. I'm not cooking for you." In the past, I was her personal chef. I woke up at dawn to make her balanced meals. She complained I made her "socially awkward" by not letting her eat cafeteria food. Never again.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "389408", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel