The Green-Eyed Revenge

My college-age sister got pregnant out of wedlock. I asked who the guy was, but she refused to say a word. She was dead set on having the baby—this "fruit of their love." I felt for her. So young, and already showing. I brought her home and waited on her hand and foot. Then, right before her due date, in front of everyone, she broke down sobbing and confessed. The baby was my husband's. After all that chaos, I finally understood. My whole family had been treating me like free hired help. "Say that again. Whose baby is it?" Even in that standard-issue hospital gown, my sister's pretty face was hard to miss. She lifted her chin, stubborn and proud, one hand stroking her massive belly with this serene, motherly expression. Her voice cracked as she begged me to accept the child. She said the baby couldn't be born without a father. If I was really her sister, I should put myself in her shoes and think about her future. If word got out that the baby had no dad, imagine the gossip. People would tear me and the child apart behind our backs. How could I be so heartless? I stood there and listened to every accusation in silence, like I was the one who'd done something shameful. I forced down the acid burning in my throat, frozen in place. For a moment, I had no idea how to respond. I just looked at our parents, standing beside the hospital bed, my eyes begging them to step in and defend me. But I never expected this. Even after my sister did something so disgusting, their first instinct was to tell me—the older sister—to be the bigger person. Don't hold it against her. "There's no hurdle you can't get past." They told me to forgive my sister's youthful mistake. They also said, "Your father and I are getting old. Your sister can't be left alone. You need to take care of her through her postpartum recovery—don't let her develop any lasting issues. Those are hard to fix later." Their biased words landed in my ears, and my heart felt like it was being pierced by a thousand tiny needles, a dull, throbbing ache. Because of that one rule—"the older yields to the younger"—my sister has been able to steal everything from me, effortlessly, her whole life, whenever she wanted. When we were kids, we were poor. Vegetables every day. Only on payday could we afford a rotisserie chicken to improve our diet. But whenever it was time to divide it up, all that was left for me was the dried-out head and the gamey rear end. In their words: "Your sister's still growing, so she gets the legs and wings. Your dad and I do physical labor, so the meatiest parts are for us to keep up our strength." Later, even when my sister couldn't finish her portion, Mom never thought to give me even a single bite. Instead, she'd carefully debone the meat, shred it, mix it into my sister's rice, and save it for her to eat the next day. Even now, whenever there's something good to eat, their first thought is always for my sister. They spoiled her rotten. With me, they were always extra strict. If my sister fell behind in school, our parents didn't hesitate to spend big money on elite tutors. If I fell behind, I got scolded. I got the belt. Pain so bad I couldn't sleep all night. Mom said girls need to be dressed up from a young age, so she bought my sister countless little dresses, a new one for every day. When it was my turn, I had to take old clothes relatives' kids didn't want anymore. When I got into looks as a teenager and begged my friend to do my makeup, my parents called me a cheap little slut. I even once suspected Mom had picked up the wrong baby at the hospital. But I didn't find out until I was an adult that Mom gave birth to me in a wheat field. She didn't even make it to the hospital in time. It's like from the moment I was born, I was destined to be worth less than my sister. But they could never admit their favoritism. Every time I asked them why they only liked my sister and not me, they'd grab whatever was in reach and hit me, curse me, tell me to stop stirring up trouble. "I raised you this big—what, I'm the bad guy now? How did I end up raising such an ungrateful brat?" "When are you finally going to grow up? How old do you have to be to stop competing with your sister for attention?" My sister stole our parents' love. She stole everything that should have been mine. I never imagined this time, she'd try to steal the place that was supposed to be mine. But I'm done enduring it. Who made up that rule, anyway? "The older yields to the younger."With that thought, something cold and hard flickered in my eyes. My sister saw I hadn't rushed to comfort her, hadn't made a move yet. She snuck a glance at me, trying to gauge my reaction. After all, ever since we were kids, if our opinions clashed, I was always the one to grovel and placate her, agreeing to every single unreasonable demand she made. Right now, she probably just figured I hadn't heard her clearly. So she slowly, deliberately, raised her voice and repeated herself. "Sis, don't tell me you're still hung up on those old-fashioned, outdated ideas. The one who isn't loved is the third party. The one who should step aside is you!" "You're not good enough for my Derek!" Honestly? I really wanted to crack open her little head and see what kind of mush was inside. I lunged, grabbed a fistful of my sister's sleek black hair, and yanked for dear life. No matter who tried to pull me off, no one could drag me away from her. My sister probably never expected me to snap like that. She hadn't made any defensive move, and I caught her completely off guard. She could do nothing but lie there and take it as I poured out every ounce of misery from these past weeks. I straightened up, tears welling in my eyes, and screamed at her. "Since we were kids, you tell me—what have I ever done to you? The best food was yours first. The best toys were yours first." "Do you know how terrified I was when I got that call from your school at three-thirty in the morning, telling me you were pregnant?" "I took the earliest flight overnight to pick you up. I didn't dare close my eyes once. I was so afraid you'd get upset. I climbed six flights of stairs—multiple times—to process your leave of absence paperwork." "I was scared of tiring you out. While you were on bed rest at my place, I wouldn't let you lift a finger. All you had to do was lie in bed all day, clothes handed to you, food brought to your mouth, just enjoying everything I did for you." "I dare say I've done more for you than your own parents! How dare you do this to me!" Only then did a flicker of panic cross my sister's delicate face. She realized I was dead serious. She cursed at the crowd standing around watching the show, shouting at them. "What are you all gawking at? Drag this crazy woman off me! What are you standing there for? She's insane!" Everyone told me it wasn't worth it, but no one dared get close, afraid of getting caught in the crossfire. It wasn't until a familiar figure pushed into my line of sight that I slowly loosened my grip, giving my sister a chance to scramble free. I smoothed down my wild, crazy hair, trying to hold onto a sliver of dignity. I forced a stiff smile. "Mom, you came? I…" But before I could finish, my mother-in-law's palm connected squarely with my face. The force was so hard, I staggered just trying to stay upright. I clutched my swollen cheek and stared in disbelief at my sister, who had ducked behind my mother-in-law for protection. My voice trembled uncontrollably. "Mom, you knew all along too?" My mother-in-law's face bloomed with joy. She tenderly brushed the sweat-damp hair from my sister's forehead and asked her, soft and gentle, if I had frightened her. Then she cleared her throat, planted her hands on her hips, and looked down her nose at me. "If you can't keep your man, that's your own incompetence. He just made a mistake every man makes. If you won't give him a child, plenty of women are lining up to do it for him." "You and Derek have been married three years. If you can't produce, you have no one to blame but yourself." "Let me tell you, a hen that doesn't lay eggs can't hog my Derek's nest!" "This is outrageous. Have you ever seen a woman as cold-hearted as you? You just can't stand to see our family thrive. You're probably hoping our line ends with Derek, aren't you!" My mother-in-law didn't bother hiding her disgust for me. Her face, twisted with rage, the loose flesh bunching up. Not a single bit of spittle was wasted; it all sprayed onto my face. But I didn't have the energy to wipe it off. I'd been married to Derek for three years, and my mother-in-law had been making my life hell for three years. I always knew she looked down on me from the very beginning. No degree. No looks. Not just my mother-in-law, but everyone around me said I married way above my station. So in that house, I walked on eggshells, terrified a single wrong move would offend her. But even with all that, not producing a child in three years of marriage became the biggest thorn in her side. She picked fights every few days. But no matter what grievances I suffered in that family, I swallowed them all in silence. I was terrified of putting my husband in a tough spot between me and his mother. But now, I didn't even know what I'd been doing all this for anymore. I must have looked utterly pathetic, because even then, I was still trembling, scared stiff by my mother-in-law's casual, dismissive words."Everyone stop filming! What are you looking at?" "Honey, are you okay?" My husband, Derek, shoved his way through the rubbernecking crowd clogging the doorway, his face full of worry, and slammed the hospital room door shut. He must have rushed here right after work—he hadn't even caught his breath before jumping to my defense. When my sister saw Derek arrive, she turned coy and tried to press herself against him. But he showed her no tenderness at all—he just shoved her straight to the floor. The moment I saw Derek, it felt like my pillar had arrived. I collapsed, drained, against the shoulder I had been longing for. My husband pulled me into his arms, silently soothing my restless, agitated emotions. But the imagined tender moment didn't last long. Wails rose up from below—my mother-in-law and my sister. My mother-in-law was on the floor too, throwing a fit, tears and snot mixing as she accused my husband. "You've got a wife and forgotten your mother! You won't even let me have my way on something this small!" "I raised you alone, a woman against the world! Do you think it was easy? I suffered ten times more than any man, and look at the result! Useless! A son belongs to someone else once he's grown!" As if throwing a tantrum wasn't enough to vent her fury, my mother-in-law scrambled up from the floor and charged straight for the hospital's load-bearing wall. She was chanting some curse under her breath. "Oh, my departed husband… I'm coming down to join you. We'll be together in the afterlife. I just hate that I have to go before seeing my grandson…" But a hospital is no place for their wild theatrics. The ruckus was so loud, security came up and pulled my mother-in-law away. I looked at my husband, my heart full of gratitude and relief, thinking blissfully, "With a husband who protects and loves me like this, I have no regrets in this life." For a moment, I felt confident I could beat any woman trying to steal my marriage. I just didn't realize—in this whole game, I was the only one who took it seriously. After hearing his mother's words, tears filled my husband's eyes. His gaze went red, and he flung away my hand, the one I had been holding so tightly. His face twisted in agony as he told me not to make this hard for him. His mom had suffered so much raising him. All she wanted was a grandchild to spoil in her old age. She wasn't wrong! I stared at the face of the man I'd known for four years, been with for eight. It kept blurring, overlapping with the memory of that shy boy who asked if I would marry him, who promised to treat me well for the rest of my life. I realized I never really knew him. Or maybe, I'd just never seen through him. But with years of history behind us, a tiny, desperate part of me still clung to hope. My voice, though, betrayed my desolation. "What about me? What did I do wrong?" "Please, tell me. I'll change." I had always put on a strong front in front of my husband. This was the first time I ever showed him my vulnerability. He hesitated. I could see he did. But then, in the next second, someone announced my sister's water had broken, the baby was coming. He turned and left without a second's hesitation. If I could have forced myself to believe he was a filial son trapped in a difficult position before, now, anyone with eyes could see it. He had feelings for this child. Outside the delivery room, everyone waited with anxious, eager anticipation, welcoming the new life into the world. But I stood in a forgotten corner no one paid attention to, tearing the gift I had prepared long ago into shreds, hoping no one would ever discover this secret."Congratulations! Eight pounds, six ounces. A healthy baby boy." "What a blessing. The first boy born today." Everyone clamored to hold the baby, showering him with affection. My sister was wheeled out, pale and exhausted, but no one paid her any attention. She lifted her hand slightly, then slowly let it drop. That nearly nine-pound chunky boy had been delivered naturally by my petite sister. All because my mother-in-law said naturally born babies are smarter than C-section ones. To win her favor, my sister had gritted her teeth and endured it. Now, she was completely and utterly drained. After my sister was moved to a regular room and couldn't get out of bed, my mom and my mother-in-law agreed to take turns caring for her. But it didn't take many days for cracks to appear in their strongest alliance. My mom complained my sister bossed her around all day and resented it. My mother-in-law complained my sister was too delicate, insisting on using three different colored basins for washing her bottom, her feet, and her underwear. What was all the fuss? The basins all served the same purpose. She was just being difficult. Looking pretty was useless if you couldn't run a household. Wasteful brat. Soon, everyone found an excuse to be busy and stopped coming. My sister, who had such fierce pride, was completely helpless when faced with her own postpartum recovery, letting them poke and prod her as they pleased. Derek never came to see her either. All she could do was stare at the happy couple in the next bed, a real family, and quietly sob. Postpartum women are already emotionally volatile. Add the baby crying every night, and my sister's once-delicate features faded away. The long, waist-length hair she was so proud of started falling out in clumps during those torturous nights. Watching this, I felt nothing but a deep, deep sense of irony. So this was the happy life my sister had betrayed me to embrace. But apparently, my mom realized leaving my sister alone in the hospital wasn't a great idea. She called me. Her tone was pure command. "Your sister's in the hospital. You go stay with her. Hurry up. Don't make me angry. I'm only saying this once." Silence. A long, drawn-out silence. When the person on the other end didn't hear me speak, her voice grew more agitated. "Are you deaf? Your mother's talking to you. When someone speaks, you answer. Who taught you such bad manners?" "Not one of you can give me a moment's peace. Did I do something wrong by raising you? Did I raise enemies?" "I am your mother. Whether you like it or not, you have to listen to me!"