Sister’s Revenge — Chapter One: The Gate

Sisters are supposed to keep secrets. Not become them.

It had been twelve years since I saw my sister, but the moment I stepped through the front gate, The air was thick with the scent of our mother’s garden — still blooming, still pretending everything was alive. But everything wasn’t. Not even close.I smelled jasmine and lies.

I buried her betrayal like a body, deep beneath my ribs, but grief has a strange way of resurfacing. It starts with a photo in the mail — old, yellowed, and impossible.They told me she died in that fire. They lied.

I saw her yesterday, alive and untouched, laughing at a café like the last decade never happened. My hands shook, my breath caught, and something inside me snapped back into place — the part of me that never stopped waiting for the truth. She's smiling. I'm screaming. And I know now: it's time to dig everything up.

The porch groaned under my weight, like it remembered me and wasn’t happy about it. Paint peeled from the columns like sunburned skin. I hadn’t planned to stop here first. I had meant to drive past, go to the hotel, gather my thoughts. But the moment I saw the old white house on the hill, something in me twisted. I needed to see her face.

Nothing had changed. The porch still creaked in protest, the wind still carried whispers, and her smile still looked like a trap. She opened the door before I could knock — as if she knew I’d come back. As if she’d been waiting for me.

And then There she was.

Meera

Still beautiful. Still hollow-eyed. Still wearing the same smile that had destroyed everything.

“When I saw her standing in our mother’s doorway, smiling like nothing happened, I knew I had come back to burn everything down.”

> “You came,” she said, like it was Sunday dinner and not a ghost arriving at her doorstep.

> “I had to,” I replied.

There was a long pause. The wind picked up, tossing her hair slightly over her shoulder, and I noticed the necklace. The gold one. The one I buried with my mother.

I blinked. She didn’t.

> “You look... well,” she offered. It wasn’t a compliment. More like a test.

> “You don’t,” I answered. Not because it was true, but because lies were her language, and I wasn’t speaking it anymore.

Her expression didn’t change. She just stepped aside, silently inviting me in. I hesitated. The last time I crossed this threshold, I had blood on my hands — whether it was metaphorical or not, I still wasn’t sure. And if I walked in now, I wouldn’t leave the same.

Still, I entered.

The hallway smelled like lemon polish and old guilt. Family photos lined the wall, but I noticed one was missing — the one of the three of us. Me, Ella, and Dad. I wondered if it had been taken down, or if it had simply faded away like everything else.

> “You should’ve called,” she said behind me.

> “You should’ve told the truth.”

Silence.

And then, for just a second, her eyes dropped. A flicker. A crack. Something. She wasn’t expecting that, not this early. Good.

I didn’t come here for a reunion.

I came here for answers.

The answer that should have been told to everyone long ago

And if she couldn’t give them, I’d take them

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