The Heiress and the Impostor

Seven years. Seven years since they found me and brought me home. And in that time, I did everything they asked. I married a man I despised. I gave birth to a daughter, Lily, now three years old.
Meanwhile, Olivia, the girl who took my place, a year my senior, was still the baby of the family, coddled and adored.
The war between the real and fake heiress was long over. A distant memory. My family was supposed to be at peace.
So, as my husband was beating me to the brink of death, I called them.
"I'm dying," I whispered into the phone. "Can you please, just like you brought me home all those years ago, come bring Lily home?"

1
I knew this was it. The end. That’s why I didn’t call 911. I called my family.
My mother answered. She was in the middle of a manicure; her voice was clipped with annoyance. "What is it now?"
I pressed a hand to my neck, trying to stem the flow of blood that seeped through my fingers. "I think… I think I’m dying. Can you come get Lily?"
Lily was only three. She was upstairs, asleep, oblivious to the carnage downstairs. The floor around me was a glittering mosaic of shattered wine bottle glass. My husband, Marcus, having spent his rage, was passed out on the sofa, snoring. My blood wouldn't stop.
"Emma, for God's sake, are you ever going to stop with this drama?"
My brother, Ethan, had snatched the phone. His voice was a whip crack of fury. "You've been married four years! Every time you call it's either 'I want a divorce' or 'He's going to kill me.' Are things really that bad?"
I said nothing.
Maybe it was the pain, or the blood loss, but a profound weariness settled over me. Looking back, I’d been tired for a very, very long time.
At five, I was stolen, forced to work like an animal in a desolate rural town, under a sky that never seemed to clear. My back ached with a fatigue no child should ever know.
At fifteen, I was returned to a home that wasn’t mine, walking on eggshells around the perfect daughter they already loved. I spent countless nights crying myself to sleep, exhausted from the effort of trying to exist in the spaces she left behind.
At eighteen, I was married off to a second-generation monster with a heavy hand. To avoid the beatings, I played the part of the perfect, subservient wife, my every waking moment dedicated to soothing his temper. My skin crawled with exhaustion.
At twenty, depression became a suffocating blanket. Only Lily's smile kept me from stepping off the ledge I stared over every day. The exhaustion was a constant ringing in my ears, a stabbing pain in my heart.
And now, at twenty-two, a shard of glass had sliced open my carotid artery.
Suddenly, I wasn't tired anymore. Because finally, I was allowed to die.
"This isn't an act," I told Ethan, my voice a gurgle. "I'm really dying. Please, just come quickly. I don't want Lily to be scared."
The truth was, I hadn't cried wolf that many times.
I'd only mentioned divorce three times. Their annoyance was so palpable I never dared bring it up again.
I'd only shown them my injuries four times. They didn't believe me, so I stopped showing them.
Seven years since they brought me home. Seven calls for help. Was that really so many?
"Then just die," Ethan spat. "If you're dead, we'll come get Lily."

2
He hung up.
I knew he wouldn't come.
Seven years. My eighth cry for help. Another failure.
A sad, hollow smile touched my lips. I slumped against the wall, one side of my body burning hot. The steam was rising from my own blood.
I glanced upstairs. It was quiet. Lily was still asleep. Or maybe she was awake, huddled under her covers, trembling. She always did that.
The thought sent a sharp, agonizing pain through my chest. I tried to pull myself up, to crawl to her, but my strength was gone.
What was I going to do? My tiny daughter, shaking in her bed, and I couldn't do a single thing to help her.
When I was gone, if no one came for her, she would be left alone with that monster.
How could she possibly survive?
My phone buzzed. A text message.
With trembling hands, I brought it to my face, struggling to focus.
It was from Olivia.
[Emma, it's my 23rd birthday. The whole family's here celebrating with me. Nobody has time for your drama.]
[I don't get it. You've already lost. Why can't you just give up?]
My lips moved, the taste of iron filling my mouth.
I have given up. I just can’t let go of Lily.
A final, desperate surge of strength flowed through me. I held down the button to record a voice message, pleading with the one person I hated most in the world.
"Olivia… I'm sorry… I was wrong… I shouldn't have been hostile… or tried to compete with you… I'll get on my knees, I'll… I'll bang my head on the floor for you. Please, just come get my daughter…"
The words came out in broken gasps, punctuated by my tears and the steady drip of my blood.
In that moment, every shred of pride I had clung to for years shattered, ground into the dust by my own hand. I had never, ever bowed my head to Olivia. I was the true daughter of the Ashworth family; she was just an imposter, a cuckoo in my nest.
But now, I was bowing.
I had lost.
"What?" Olivia's voice came back, laced with disbelief, followed by a peal of laughter. "Are you serious? You're… this is hilarious. You're begging me? On your knees? For real? Go on then, do it! I want to hear it!"

3
So I did.
I held down the voice record button, lowered my body, and slammed my forehead against the hard floor.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
I sent the message. The world spun. I collapsed, panting like a dying dog on the cold tile.
Olivia's laughter echoed again. "Oh my god, you actually did it? Haha! I have to say, that feels pretty good. It took you seven years, but I finally broke you!"
Yes. She had broken me.
"Bring… Lily… home…" I managed to whisper into the phone, one last time.
Her tone shifted instantly, turning sharp and cold. "What did you say? Emma, are you messing with me? A second ago it was 'bring your daughter home.' Now it's 'bring Emma home'? Deep down, you still want to come back, don't you!"
I blinked, my mind a thick fog.
Did I say my own name?
No, I meant Lily. Bring Lily home! I didn't have a home to go back to. But Lily did!
But I couldn't form another word. I had nothing left.
"Emma? Cat got your tongue? Busted." Olivia's voice was laced with triumph. In the background, I could hear the deep, authoritative voice of my father.
"Emma, that's enough drama," he said, his voice carrying clearly through the phone. "I'll be visiting the Ryan estate in a couple of weeks. I'll see you then."
A couple of weeks. A family member was finally coming to see me.
But I wouldn't be here. I was already gone.
Lily, I'm so sorry. Mommy couldn't get you out of this hell after all.
I just hope ghosts are real. So I can watch over you a little while longer.

4
When I opened my eyes again, I was floating.
Floating above my own body.
So, ghosts were real.
Dawn was breaking, but the house was silent. Marcus had fired all the staff years ago, forcing me into the role of maid. It made it easier for him to abuse me without witnesses. Even in broad daylight, no one would come.
I realized Marcus was waking up; his snores had stopped.
I didn't care about him. I drifted upstairs, through the wall, and into Lily's bedroom.
Just as I'd feared, she was curled into a tight ball under the covers, her eyes squeezed shut. The pillow was soaked with her tears. The sheets beneath her were wet, too. She'd wet the bed in her terror and hadn't dared to move.
My heart, or whatever passed for it now, ached with a phantom pain. I reached out to stroke her cheek, but my hand passed right through her.
Downstairs, a strangled cry. Marcus must have found my body.
As I expected, he soon began the gruesome task of taking me apart.
Even as a ghost, a chill I couldn't explain settled deep within me. The depths of human evil were on full display in Marcus Ryan. And this was the man my family had chosen for me.
Originally, Olivia was supposed to marry him. The two families had already agreed to the union. The Ryan Corporation was the biggest player in the city, and Marcus himself was handsome, charismatic, with a brilliant future. Olivia had been thrilled, even going on a few dates with him.
But then the scandal broke. Marcus had been implicated in the death of a girl at a club—abuse that had gone too far. The story was ugly.
My parents and Ethan grew worried. They feared he was a wolf in sheep's clothing, a violent sociopath. They decided Olivia shouldn't get any closer to him. But they couldn't afford to offend the Ryan family, so they offered a substitute.
Me.
"Emma is our biological daughter, after all. She and Mr. Ryan are a much better match."
"Our Emma is gentle and obedient, not like Olivia, who runs around all day and doesn't act like a lady at all!"
"Besides, Olivia doesn't want children yet. She's still a child herself. It's better she doesn't marry just yet; we wouldn't want her to embarrass us!"
That's what they'd said. Every word was a criticism of Olivia, a justification to the Ryan family for the switch.
Thinking back on it now, every one of those criticisms was drenched in love.
I let out a bitter, silent laugh and drifted into the bathroom to watch Marcus at his work.

5
Marcus's face was sheet-white. He muttered and cursed as he worked. To steel himself, he kept insulting me, his words a venomous litany.
He called me a whore, said I'd been passed around by hundreds of men, that I was filth and didn't deserve him.
That I got what I deserved.
I didn't understand. Where did this come from?
His own frantic whispers provided the answer. "Don't you blame me, you slut. Olivia told me everything. She told me all about you. About how you were passed around that hick town like a party favor. That you'd even had an abortion. What right did you have to marry me? You deserved every beating I gave you! Your death is on you!"
And there it was. It had been Olivia all along.
No wonder. When we were first married, Marcus had been kind, respectful even. Then, one day, he just snapped. The change was sudden, absolute. The abuse began, escalating until it finally killed me.
Olivia. You are truly ruthless.
I had already lost everything, and still, you wouldn't let me live.
By sunset, Marcus was finished. He packed my remains into bags and stuffed them into two large freezers. Then he scrubbed the living room until it gleamed, leaving no trace of what had happened.
At some point, Lily had crept out of her room. She was crouched by the second-floor railing, peering timidly at the scene below.
Marcus looked up, his eyes catching hers. His voice was the growl of a demon. "Lily. What did you see?"
She was too terrified to speak.
"I said, tell me!" he roared.
The sound shocked a response out of her. She shook her head frantically. "Nothing… I don't know…"
I was torn between rage and a heart-wrenching pity, wishing I could sink my teeth into his throat. But I couldn't touch him.
Marcus snorted and grabbed a few bags of chips and bread from the pantry, tossing them up the stairs. "You stay up there. If you come down, I'll break your legs."
Lily nodded in terror and scrambled back into her room.
Without another glance, Marcus grabbed one of the bags from the freezer and slipped out of the house under the cover of darkness.
A few moments later, Lily crept out again. She watched the front door for a long time before tiptoeing down the stairs.
My ethereal heart pounded. What was she doing?
She walked to the freezer, the one in the corner, and with all her might, pried open the bottom door.
My head was nestled among bags of frozen meat.
"Mommy…" she whispered.
Tears I could no longer shed streamed down my face.
She had seen everything.

6
The days that followed were a blur of Marcus disposing of my body.
He'd take a piece with him each day, but sometimes he'd bring it back, defeated. Getting rid of a body in a bustling metropolis wasn't as easy as he thought.
My head, at least, remained in the freezer.
Lily was obedient. She only snuck downstairs to look at me when Marcus was out, her silent tears a constant companion before she'd flee back to her room. She lived entirely on the second floor, her only food the stale bread and snacks he’d thrown at her.
It was a suffocating, hopeless existence even for an adult. My heart ached for her in a way I couldn't express. Finally, I drifted out of the house, desperate to find a solution.
Without thinking, I found myself floating towards my parents' home. The villa, so familiar yet so alien, glowed with a warm, inviting light.
On impulse, I passed through the walls. Olivia was on the sofa, throwing a tantrum.
"But you promised we'd go on vacation tomorrow! I already planned everything!"
Though a year older than me, Olivia had always acted like a spoiled child at home.
My father chuckled, indulging her. "I know, honey, Daddy messed up the dates. I have to go to Ryan Corporation tomorrow to sign the new contract. I'll stop by and see your sister while I'm there. We can go on our trip the day after."
"He's right, sweetie," my mother chimed in, a fond smile on her face. "The contract is important. Don't be difficult."
Ethan, flipping through some documents nearby, looked up. "I can handle the signing. You two should go on the trip with Olivia. It's more important."
"Yes, yes! I want to go on vacation!" Olivia stomped her foot, the picture of petulance.
Honestly, I envied her. In the ten years I was gone, I had never learned how to throw a tantrum. After I came back, I never dared. Only in the foggiest of memories, from before I was five, could I recall ever being so carefree.
"Well…" my father hesitated. "I really should check on Emma. It's been years since I've been to her house."
At the mention of my name, Olivia's face darkened. She crossed her arms. "Fine. Go. She is your real daughter, after all."
My father immediately backpedaled, cooing as if to a small child. "That's not what I meant. I just feel that if we don't visit for too long, the Ryans will think we don't take the partnership seriously."
My mother nodded in agreement. "He's right. The families are connected. We need to show we care. How about this: tomorrow, I'll go with you on the trip, and your father will go sign the contract."
Olivia was finally satisfied, beaming as she popped a pastry into her mouth.
The picture of a happy, harmonious family was complete.
I hung silently in the air, motionless.
Suddenly, my mother glanced in my direction, though of course, she saw nothing. She rubbed her chest. "That's strange," she murmured. "I just felt a sudden pang in my heart."
"Are you okay, Mom?" Ethan asked.
My father and Olivia both looked at her.
She waved a hand dismissively. "I'm fine. I can't explain it. Just a little… uneasy. Must be getting old."
They all laughed. Olivia quickly showered her with compliments about how young and beautiful she still looked, making my mother preen.
But she kept rubbing her chest.

7
Late that night, my mother couldn't sleep.
She tossed and turned, waking my father.
"Honey, what's wrong?" he grumbled. "I have to be up early tomorrow."
"I don't know. My heart is just racing. I feel so anxious."
My father considered it. "Are you worried about the contract tomorrow? We've been working with the Ryans for years. It'll be fine."
"It's not the contract," she said, running a hand through her hair. "I can't put my finger on it."
He frowned. "Then what is it? Emma? Did her phone call a while back get to you?"
My mother froze, her hand flying to her chest again.
My father laughed softly. "What's with that look? Suddenly you're so concerned about Emma? She's fine. She's living the high life married to Marcus Ryan."
My mother was quiet for a long moment before sighing heavily. "I don't think she's fine at all. The last time she visited, her wrists were covered in bruises."
My father fell silent.
She continued, her voice low. "She kept asking for a divorce, begging us to help her. I think Marcus treats her terribly."
Silence from my father.
I hovered over their bed, my dead heart giving a faint, useless flutter.
You knew, Mom? You knew? Then why… why didn't you help me?
My mother provided the answer. "But what could we do? We couldn't let Olivia marry him. Olivia's never known a day of hardship in her life. She couldn't have handled Marcus's temper. Emma… she suffered for ten years. She's much tougher. A few beatings here and there won't break her. It's not like it will kill her."
My father nodded in the darkness.
They turned off the lights and settled into sleep, wrapped in each other's arms.
My heart returned to its silent, dead stillness.
I turned and drifted away.

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