My Twin Stole My Life

New Year's Eve. I was pushing my beat-up delivery scooter through a blizzard when my phone vibrated.

Rory.

Just two syllables, cutting through the static and the roar of the wind, landing like a thunderbolt on my skull.

But I'd signed the non-disclosure agreement. I'd taken the money and vanished a decade ago.

I couldn't fathom why my younger brother, the one whod taken my college spot and my name, was contacting me now.

I'm outside the complex where you're delivering.

Mom and Dad are dying. They want to see you one last time.

Outside the complex?

I slammed on the brakes. My tire skidded, carving a black scar into the snow-covered asphalt.

A stretch Cadillac idled by the security gate. A window rolled halfway down, revealing a face I knew too wellhandsome, chiseled, and perfectly maintained.

Staring at that facea mirror image of my own, yet a world away in fortunemy frozen hands tightened on the scooter's handlebar.

Theyd bled me dry to pave his golden path. What else could they possibly want?

I exhaled a cloud of white steam, ignored the car, and twisted the throttle, speeding past the massive luxury vehicle.

I didn't even glance in the rearview mirror.

Behind me, a car door opened and closed with a heavy thud.

Jasper hadn't chased me.

Of course not. How could a man in a fifty-thousand-dollar bespoke suit, wearing pristine Italian leather shoes, sully himself with this kind of sludge and snow?

Ten minutes later, I parked the scooter outside the dilapidated building slated for demolition.

My hands were numb, practically welded to the grips. I wrestled the thermal bag free. My phone buzzed againan unknown number.

I didn't need to check the caller ID. I hung up instantly.

Then came the barrage of texts:

Rory Miller, how much longer are you going to play the martyr?

Dad has end-stage renal failure. He needs a kidney, immediately.

If you have an ounce of conscience left, stop pretending you're dead.

At the words renal failure, I wanted to laugh. I truly, bitterly wanted to laugh.

Ten years ago, theyd used the same tactic.

Theyd claimed Grandpa Robert had a massive brain tumor and needed the moneythe supposed "blood money" from selling my future.

And the result?

I shoved the phone into my pocket, rubbing the back of my hands. The chapped skin on my knuckles, cracked open by the cold, wept fresh blood.

I climbed the six flights of stairs. Before reaching the landing, I heard a racking cough from inside.

I pushed the door open. A wave of damp, mildewed air slapped me in the face.

The one-room apartment, maybe three hundred square feet, was cluttered with stacks of salvaged cardboard boxes.

Honey, youre back?

Hannah heard the noise and walked toward me, leaning on the wall. An old injury left her with a pronounced limp.

She held out a steaming cup of plain hot water. Come, warm your hands.

I looked at her faded cotton dress and the leg that had never fully healed after the accident. The ice in my chest thawed just a little.

Daddy!

Our son, Caleb, scooted out from behind her, clutching a handful of plastic blocks. A smear of red paint covered his cheek. He grinned, showing off his tiny white teeth. Look, Daddy! I built a huge house! Were going to live here!

It was a lopsided construction of primary-colored blocks, with a little courtyard.

My nose stung. I squatted down, ready to pull him into a hug, when the door was brutally pounded.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The force was immense, the rhythm urgent, and it reeked of entitled arrogance.

No neighbor in this broken-down building would ever knock like that.

Hannahs face paled. She looked instinctively at the door. Who is it?

She barely cracked it open before a foot in a black leather shoe violently kicked it inward.

Hannah, unsteady on her injured leg, stumbled backward, narrowly avoiding the small gas heater.

Two black-suited bodyguards strode in, followed by a blast of expensive cologne.

Jasper Miller stepped into my "pigsty," pinching his nose with a look of disgust. He surveyed the mold-speckled wallpaper, his eyes finally settling on Hannah and me. The condescending pity in his gaze was a physical sting.

Brother, youre actually living here?

He kicked aside a stack of newspaper. Come home with me. Save Dads life. Ill give you half a million.

Half a million dollars for my kidney.

Just like ten years ago: three million dollars to buy out my entire life.

The air in the room seemed to solidify.

Caleb, terrified, buried his face in my shirt, whimpering softly.

Despite her limp, Hannah positioned herself between us, a protective lioness. Get out!

She snatched up the small pair of embroidery scissors she used for mending clothes.

One of the bodyguards took a step forward, raising a hand to shove her.

Dont touch her!

I screamed the words. My hand closed around the utility knife I kept on the table for cutting open cardboard boxes. I leveled the razor-sharp tip at Jaspers handsome face. Tell your men to back off, or I won't guarantee this face will ever play a violin on stage again.

Jasper flinched, instinctively shielding his face, and took two steps back. Rory, are you insane?!

Im here to help you!

His eyes were wide with incomprehension. Look at that cripple you married, and look at this little brat you fathered.

Dont you want a better life?

I gave a cold laugh. Help me?

In what capacity? The one who stole my name, Jasper Miller, or the one who stole my life, Rory?

Hearing that, Jaspers face went white.

It was his only stain, the wound he feared most being exposed.

He gritted his teeth, pulled a checkbook from his limited-edition briefcase, and tossed the flimsy paper to the floor.

It landed on the cold, cracked cement. Mom and Dad worked hard to raise you, even if the methods were a little intense back then. But you took the money.

You squandered three million, ended up like this, and you blame who? Not me. I was diligent. I was successful. I deserved that spot.

He grew more self-righteous with every word, as if I was the one who had taken a fortune to live a life of decadence, and he was the diligent, struggling genius.

I felt a surge of pure absurdity. Rage detonated in my chest, burning through my insides.

But I couldn't lose control. For Caleb, I couldn't risk getting arrested.

I took a deep breath, bent down, and picked up the check.

A smug smirk played on Jaspers lips. Thats right

SSSKKKKK

The sound of tearing paper.

I shredded the half-million-dollar check right in front of him. I tossed the pieces high, letting the paper snowflakes drift down onto his expensive cashmere coat.

Then, I grabbed the mug of lukewarm, bitter tea from the tableold, dark tea leaves still floating at the bottom.

WHOOSH

The brown liquid streamed down his meticulously styled hair, ran across his perfect face, and dripped onto the pristine white cashmere.

Jasper's shriek nearly lifted the ceiling. AAHH!! Rory Miller! You dare to splash me?!

The bodyguards moved. I pointed at the old, dusty security camera mounted in the corner. This room is wired. Its synced to the cloud.

Touch me, and I release the story of how you bought a college spot and impersonated a student ten years ago. Ill send it to every media outlet.

We all go down together.

Jasper froze.

He was a celebrated concert violinist, a public figure. He had everything to lose.

Fine. Very well.

Jasper wiped the tea from his face. His makeup was smudged; he looked like a pathetic clown. Rory, you will regret this.

He scrambled away with his bodyguards. I heard the frantic tap-tap-tap of their dress shoes echoing down the stairwell.

Only when the sound was completely gone did the tension leave me. I was shaking, and the utility knife clattered to the floor.

Hannah came over, asked nothing, and simply wrapped me in her arms.

Her embrace smelled faintly of cheap laundry detergent, but it was the safest place in the world. Its okay, Rory. Its okay.

But was it, really?

At three in the morning, Hannahs phone rang. It was the owner of the garment factory where she worked. Hannah, we have a clear complaint. Someone says you deliberately ruined a shipment of high-end silk.

Dont bother coming in tomorrow. Prepare the compensation payment.

I listened to the dial tone, my hands gripping the sheets.

The retaliation was swift.

Hannah hung up. In the dark, she didnt say a word. She just walked to the window, staring out at the distant city lights, as if counting down our remaining time.

The next morning, Hannah put on her faded work uniform, pretending everything was fine. Im heading out. Ill bring home some caramel apples tonight.

Her smile was gentle, but the fine lines around her eyes were etched with exhaustion.

I knew she wasnt going to work. She was going to beg for her job back or try to find day labor somewhere else. With her leg, good jobs were impossible.

After she left, I dropped Caleb off at his daycare and boarded the bus bound for downtown.

I needed to end this.

Outside the window, the scenery flew by. As we passed the famous Eastwood School of Music, a sharp, familiar pain seized my chest.

Ten years ago, I looked out a window like this.

Back then, I clutched a gold-embossed acceptance letter. I was the state violin champion, the so-called prodigy. My future was limitless.

Until that night. My parents suddenly knelt before me.

That single, desperate act broke something deep inside me.

Rory, sweetie, Grandpa Robert is dying from the tumor. We need a million dollars for the surgery.

We dont have it! Even selling the house wont cover it!

But someone is offering the money... if you... if you just give up your acceptance.

Give it up?

It wasn't just giving up a college spot. It was erasing me from existence. It was letting Jasper take my name, my life, and my university seat.

I refused. I was human. I had dreams.

But then my father pulled out a small bottle of antifreeze. He stood by Grandpa Roberts hospital bed, threatening to force the poison down the old mans throat. If we cant afford treatment, then well all just die!

My mother, Susan, was sobbing, her face streaked with blood from hitting the floor. Rory, hes your brother! Hes delicate. He cant do hard labor! If you dont help him, his life is ruined!

You have your health. You can survive without a degree!

What utterly ridiculous logic.

To save Grandpa, and for the sake of the family, I signed.

I signed the legal document severing our relationship. I signed the non-disclosure agreement.

That same night, my ID was confiscated, and I was put on a bus bound for a factory in the South.

I pressed my face to the window, watching Jasper, wearing my favorite white button-down shirt, standing under a streetlamp, smiling.

He took everything.

The memory was a rusty saw, scraping back and forth in my skull, the pain almost suffocating.

The bus pulled up to the City General Hospital. I stepped off, inhaling deeply. The cold air rushed into my lungs, making me cough violently.

I followed the information Jasper had given me, finding the VIP suite.

Through the glass window, I saw my vampire parents.

Robert was lying in bed, sallow, hooked up to an IV.

Susan was peeling an apple for him.

Jasper sat on a nearby sofa, polishing his expensive Stradivarius violin.

The scene was sickeningly cozy.

I pushed the door open. BANG! It hit the wall, the noise echoing through the sterile room.

The three of them looked over at once.

When Robert saw me, his clouded eyes didn't show surprise, but calculationlike a hungry wolf sighting prey. Rory? You came?

Susan dropped the apple, instantly putting on her 'doting mother' mask, and rushed toward me. My son! Your father is fading, he just wanted to see you one last time.

She tried to take my hand. I sidestepped, avoiding her touch.

Her hand hung in the air, a moment of awkwardness, which she quickly covered by dabbing her eyes. Still mad at Mom and Dad, sweetie? But we gave you the three million, didnt we?

I stood in the center of the room, looking coldly at the trio of actors. Was it your doing? Hannah losing her job?

I didn't bother with small talk. Get her reinstated. Pay her damages. Otherwise, we have nothing to discuss.

Jasper rose. He was wearing a different suit todayArmanistill impeccably tailored. As long as you agree to the matching procedure and donate a kidney to Dad.

Forget the job; Ill give you a million dollars.

A million. Thats enough for a bottom feeder like you to live on for the rest of your life.

His tone was dismissive, as if he were shooing a beggar.

I fixed my gaze on his eyes and walked toward him, step by slow step. You thought I spent all those years living well, squandering that so-called blood money?

Jasper frowned, playing innocent. Werent you?

Mom and Dad gave you three million. You said you wanted to travel the world, that studying was too much work. I reluctantly agreed to step in.

You must have blown through the money by now, right?

Why else would you be delivering food?

I paused, then a massive wave of pure, cold absurdity washed over me.

I started to laugh. I couldn't stop. I doubled over, tears streaming down my face. Ha ha ha ha ha

Three million? Travel the world?

I snapped the laughter off. I grabbed Jaspers wrist in a death grip.

It was a musicians hand: pale, slender, without a single callus.

Then, I shoved my own hand right up to his face. Open your damn eyes and look!

Does this look like a hand that traveled the world?!

My hands were covered in rough calluses, the knuckles thick and misshapen, the skin red and weeping from frostbite.

They were the hands that had tightened screws for ten years, delivered food for three, scrubbed dishes in winter, and hauled cement in summer!

Jasper recoiled in panic, trying to pull away. Get off me! Youre youre filthy!

Filthy?

I held fast. It gets worse.

I turned to the father, Robert, feigning illness in the bed, and the mother, Susan, looking utterly guilty. Jasper, ask your wonderful parents.

Where did the three million dollars really go?