When the Fake Heiress Hurt Me, My Whole Family Felt It

I'd gone missing when I was three. I grew up moving from one foster home to another, then lived on my own as an adult. After all those years, my birth parents, Richard and Caroline Hartley, finally found me.

The day we were reunited, a strange notification sounded in my head. Pain-link system connected. All of the host's injuries, pain, and sensations will be shared instantly with the following immediate family members: parents and two older brothers. No distance limit.

At first I chalked it up to the shock of coming home and didn't give it another thought.

That first day, Mom brought out a stack of old photo albums. She showed me pictures of myself as a little girl, turning the pages one by one. When I ran my hand over the page from my third birthday, the sharp edge of the photo nicked my right index finger. A thin cut opened, and bright red blood slowly welled up.

Mom immediately grabbed a tissue and leaned forward to wipe it away. But before she touched me, an identical cut opened on her own right index finger. Blood spilled out.

I looked up at her in shock.

A second later, over on the couch, Dad set down his newspaper, frowned slightly, and pressed on his right index finger, clearly in pain. Beside me, Leo opened his hand at that very moment. The same thin red cut marked his finger.

Then the phone rang. It was Ethan, still on his way home.

Dad put him on speaker. Ethan sounded baffled. "Dad, my right index finger just started bleeding. I felt a sharp sting out of nowhere. What's going on?"

I stared at the cut on my fingertip, my heart racing. The message in my head had been real. A drop of blood fell onto the album, spreading into a small red spot.

Mom hurried to press a tissue against my cut, though her own finger was still bleeding. "Mom," I said softly, "your hand's bleeding, too."

Only then did she notice her own cut. She hastily wiped her finger and fetched the first-aid kit, then carefully cleaned my cut and started to bandage it. When I took the Band-Aid and said I could do it myself, she reluctantly let go, looking at me as if she couldn't quite believe she had me back.

By the time Ethan arrived, the four of us had treated our cuts. But that faint, shared sting still lingered in our fingertips.

I turned back to the photo. Three-year-old me looked so tiny, clutching a cake spoon. I barely remembered that birthday. After more than a decade apart, my parents' tenderness made me feel shy and out of place, and yet I couldn't get enough of hearing them call me "sweetheart."

I gently closed the album and set it beside Mom. All the loneliness I'd carried for years eased, just a little.

Over dinner, Dad told me he was holding a welcome-home party at our family's private club the next day. He wanted to introduce me to all our friends and relatives. Mom said Lucy Bennett, the event coordinator, would take me there early the following afternoon to try on my custom-made dress. She, Dad, and my brothers would follow.

"Vivian, too," Mom added softly. "I've told her you're home."

Vivian was the daughter they'd adopted. She was two years older than me and had joined the family when she was five. For 17 years, she'd had everything that should have been mine. Before bed, Mom knocked on my door and gave me a beautiful old ring, one she'd treasured since she was young.

"A welcome-home gift. For the little girl I lost. My precious daughter." Her eyes were red. I could hear the guilt and love in her voice. "From now on, this ring will remind you that you belong in this family. Whatever happens, I will never lose you again."

The next afternoon, I followed Lucy into the club. A new welcome sign stood in the middle of the hall with my name on it. Several beautifully wrapped gifts sat neatly beside my seat of honor. Lucy asked me to wait while she checked on the delivery of my dress.

I'd barely touched the chair when someone laughed behind me. A sharp, ugly laugh. There was no mistaking the hostility.

Vivian approached with Amber, who had her phone in hand. Vivian looked me up and down in my plain old coat. Then she noticed the ring on my left hand. Her expression darkened.

"Hi. I'm Nora." I let go of the chair, keeping my voice polite.

"I canceled plans I'd made ages ago because of you." Vivian strode up and tore my place card off the chair. "Making yourself right at home, aren't you? You really think you own this place?"

I reached for the card, but she moved first. She stuck it to a serving cart, then swept every one of my welcome-home gifts onto a tray.

"Amber, get the others over here. They can split these." She turned and pointed at me. "You. Hand these out to them. Then get us some wine."

Lucy hurried back and laid her hand on the tray. "Mr. and Mrs. Hartley had these prepared especially for Nora. These aren't for you to give away."

"I'm her older sister." Vivian settled into my seat, crossing her legs as if she owned it. "I'm just teaching her the rules. Consider it my welcome gift."

I pressed my hand down on the top gift box. "This is from my mother," I said firmly. "Please put it back."

Amber snorted. A few girls watching from the doorway crowded around, eager for a show. Vivian scoffed. "Some bitch crawls in from God knows where and thinks she can play the rich girl. Who the hell do you think you are?"