Fading Starlight
Just then, someone shouted from the crowd, “What a perfect match! Master Franklin and Miss Autumn sure are made for each other!”
“Yeah," someone else chimed in. "Not like that fake, Ginger Westwood. She stole the real daughter’s life for over twenty years. Even six feet under, she’s nothing but bad luck.”
Autumn seemed to hear my name as well. Her hand paused for a second, and then she smiled—a small, mocking curve of her lips.
I laughed bitterly to myself. Of course, she would. I had lived the life that was supposed to be hers for over two decades. She had every reason to sneer at me.