Anonymous Confession

"Have you ever done anything you feel guilty about?"

My colleague blindsided me with the question during our lunch break.

My heart plummeted.

My fork, laden with salad, froze halfway to my mouth. I slowly lifted my gaze.

She pointed at her phone, her lip curled in disdain.

Intrigued, I tapped the link she sent me. It was a blog post.

My eyes were immediately drawn to the pinned comment at the very top—

"Does murder count?"

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1

Murder.

That single word was enough to make the post spread like wildfire.

Hundreds of replies quickly piled up beneath it.

Seeing the situation spiral out of control, the blogger quickly jumped in.

She posted a clarification in the comments section.

"I didn't kill her, but her death is on my hands."

"I grew up thinking I was an only child, but at twenty-one, I suddenly learned I'd been switched at birth."

"I couldn't accept it, so I staged a fake kidnapping."

"I wanted to see if my family truly loved me."

"And just as I expected, my parents, my brother, and her fiancé all chose me."

"It should have ended there, but…"

"Those kidnappers went back on their word and abducted her instead."

"By the time she was found, she had been tortured into a complete mental breakdown."

"My parents were going to send her to a psychiatric hospital, but she couldn't take it and threw herself off a cliff."

"I took her place, married into a prominent family, and became my parents' only daughter again."

"I've lived a wonderful, happy life all these years, though I do occasionally feel a pang of pity for her."

"I just lit a candle for her. I hope she can rest in peace."

Her words were laced with a thin veil of apology.

But she ruthlessly shot down any comment that dared to question her.

Watching the blogger, Blair Whitmore, flaunt her condescending, utterly remorseless attitude, my colleague across from me slammed her salad fork onto the table.

"I swear, this bitch is infuriating."

"How can anyone be so shameless?"

"An adopted daughter who stole someone else's life."

"Not a single word of thanks, and she drove the real daughter to her death."

"People like her should burn in hell!"

But it's always the cruelest ones who live the most charmed lives.

Someone in the comments had already dug up Blair's real identity.

The daughter of the Whitmore Group's CEO.

The wife of the Ashford Group's heir.

She lived in a hundred-million-dollar mansion and wore a ten-million-dollar diamond ring.

She basked in her family's adoration without an ounce of guilt.

The only "hardship" in her life was being childless after years of marriage.

She chalked it up to a curse from the girl who had died.

Even in death, the girl wouldn't grant her peace, still finding ways to haunt her.

To purge that last bit of guilt from her heart and finally conceive a child with the man she loved, she saw a therapist and then posted this confession online.

Hoping strangers online would offer the same comfort as her family.

That they would tell her: "None of this was your fault."

"She was just too weak. An heiress who couldn't even handle a minor setback like that? She had it coming."

Unfortunately for her, the commenters saw right through the act.

The comments section was a raging flood of furious messages.

She couldn't possibly reply to them all.

I watched, a grim smile touching my lips.

Putting down my phone, I spoke to my colleague.

"Do you know the thing I feel most guilty about in my entire life?"

My colleague, Chloe, gave me a strange look and laughed.

"What could you have possibly done?"

"Everyone knows you're the kindest person in the company. You wouldn't hurt a fly."

"The... the worst thing you've ever done is probably steal a couple sheets of printer paper from the office."

I shook my head.

I leaned in, my voice low enough for only her to hear.

"I've killed someone, too."