The Borrowed Wife: Trapped In My Sister's Skin

I spent an entire month replaying the nightmare of my sister saying her wedding vows to the father of my unborn child.

Elizabeth was born first, me second, and Diana third. We are triplets, and besides the contours of our face, we are identical. I didn't imagine a day would come when Elizabeth would use that to her advantage by stealing the stranger who took my virginity when he came looking for me.

I was glad I had stopped vomiting before our birthday, but I wasn't expecting Marshall, Elizabeth's husband, to open my bedroom door on the morning of our birthday without knocking.

His black shirt was half-tucked, and his hair was still wet from a shower he must have taken in a hurry. The bags under his eyes hinted that he hadn't slept at all.

He didn't say happy birthday. He announced my sister's death.

“Lizzie?” I asked in disbelief.

"The murder weapon is a throw knife," he said in a monotone. Quietly. That was worse than shouting. 

My eyes wandered to the shelf behind him. Inside it, taped to the back cover, was the result of the pregnancy test I had weeks before. It was positive. And under my mattress was my throw knife. Everyone knows I can hit bullseye with a knife even from several meters away.

If he searched my room, he would find both the knife and the test results. That's bad news. Especially now.

“Are you accusing me of murder?”

“You are the last person she saw,” he spoke calmly, his voice threateningly low in a way that made my skin crawl.  

“And that makes me a killer? Are you even listening to yourself?!This is my sister we are talking about.” I managed to get the words out without stammering.

His eyes narrowed but he didn't respond. He just stared at me.

“I only met her to talk. We share a birthday which is today. Is that not enough reason to meet her?”

“I suggest you get properly dressed,” he said and stepped outside. Two officers came in afterwards. They cuffed me in my own bedroom while my Mom stood in the hallway and watched. 

At the station, I met a photo face-down on the table in front of me. The detective who came in with me flipped it.

It was Elizabeth.

Five parallel lines cut across her face. Straight and deliberate. It started and ended the same way. 

And in the center of her chest, buried to the hilt was a blade with a purple handle. It was chipped on the end where I dropped it at the range last winter.

My throw knife. The same knife I'm very sure I left at home. 

I should have told them it was mine. 

I didn't. Because if I said it was mine, they would ask where I went to after my brief meeting with Elizabeth in her office. 

I had gone straight to the parking lot outside Marshall's mansion at 2 a.m, sitting in a taxi and trying to decide if I should go inside and tell Marshall about the pregnancy.

So I said nothing. Instead, my hand traveled to my belly under the table.

The detective put down a second photo. It was still her, but a different shot. 

The five fingers on her left hand were cut off and her hand was placed on her chest. Her sky-blue blouse was soaked red, the heavy patch going down to her belly. But I didn't see the fingers anywhere. And her pleated skirt wasn't touched.

Everything looked like a ritual. But…

"She wasn't… assaulted.” My voice cracked. 

"Correct," the detective said. "So we are not looking at the work of a man. Maybe a woman. Maybe someone jealous."

He said it like he was giving me a script that was about my story. 

“If this is about my fight with her, siblings fight all the time…”

“Do they also kill when they can't have their way?”Marshall snapped at me. He had just led my Mom and Diana inside. His hands nestled on the slopes of Diana's shoulders like they were acquainted in a way that made my stomach knot. He didn't stay. He left the next minute like he couldn't stand my presence.

Mom settled down in front of me. Her eyes were red and swollen. But no sign of tears. 

“Charlotte.” Her voice caught on my name like she had concluded that I did it. “ Lizzie's wedding ring is missing,” she said, and pushed a third photo from the crime scene to me. It was a close-up shot of Elizabeth's empty fingers. 

"Lizzie's wedding ring is missing. It would be nice to have it back for the funeral."

Diana cut in at once. "Mom, stop being nice to her."

"Diana, please —"

"No. Can't you see what she did?" Diana said and turned to me. She pulled a laptop from her tote bag. It had a sticker that said Luna. It was Elizabeth's.

"It was by your bedside, Charlotte. By your bedside."

She opened it, typed, and turned it to me.

Elizabeth never lets anyone touch her laptop. How did she know our sister's password?