Her Stolen Glory, My Silent Grave

The next morning, I personally took the muffins I had baked and placed them in front of Rebecca.

"Wow, my favorite muffins!" Rebecca exclaimed with delight.

She picked one up, took a bite, and nodded with satisfaction. "Tessa's cooking is still the best."

I said nothing. I quietly pulled out a chair and sat in the farthest corner, watching my family enjoy the meal happily together. The sight had me feeling like an unnecessary decoration in the setting.

Rebecca set down her knife and fork and bragged lightly, "Speaking of which, that antique gun I gave to Don Conway yesterday was not easy to repair. I consulted the most famous gunsmiths in Elandor, and they all said the internal damage was almost irreversible."

She continued in a deliberately nonchalant tone, "But I stayed up several nights, polishing the parts myself, and in the end, I actually succeeded.

"The expert looked at the finished product with a magnifying glass for a long time and marveled, saying it was craftsmanship that restored something decaying!"

Mother immediately praised, "You've always been excellent since you were a child, unlike Tessa, who's clumsy."

Even Father—who was usually busy with family affairs and rarely sat at the dining table—had a gentle expression on his usually calm and confident face.

He listened to Rebecca's story with great interest and agreed with satisfaction. "As expected of my daughter!"

Yves' gaze stayed fixed on Rebecca, filled with a focus and admiration I had never received before.

I bit my lips tightly, already tasting the blood that formed on them.

That antique gun was the one I had disassembled and polished piece by piece, yet now it had become Rebecca's achievement to show off.

Amid the chorus of praise, Rebecca suddenly turned her head toward me, her expression looking slightly apologetic.

"Tessa, you don't look too pleased. You're not angry at me, are you? It's all my fault that your engagement party turned into a celebration for me. I didn't want it, but Dad and Clyde insisted on changing it. There was nothing I could do," she said.

Her words sounded like an apology, but every sentence seemed to stab deeper into my heart.

As soon as Rebecca finished, Mother's expression darkened. She slammed her utensils down and scolded me sharply, yelling, "Tessa! As her elder sister, can't you be more considerate?

"Do you think it's reasonable to look so displeased with Rebecca over something so minor? If you keep being this petty, don't bother calling me your mother anymore!"

Everyone turned to look at me—waiting for me to either lose control and scream like before, or cry pitifully to defend myself as usual.

However, this time, I remained unusually calm. Even though the pain I felt inside made it hard to breathe, I no longer wanted to defend myself to them.

After all, I was going to die soon. At this point, even arguing had become a luxury.

Since I was already such an unbearable person in their eyes, why should I waste the final moments of my life on such futile struggles?

When she saw me remain unresponsive, Mother grew even angrier. She was just about to scold me again when an accident happened.

"Ah!" Rebecca, who sat at the head of the table, suddenly let out a painful groan.

She was clutching her throat, and her face was flushed red from the lack of oxygen. Red rashes spread across her skin as her breathing turned rapid.

In the next second, under everyone's terrified gaze, she slid straight from her chair and collapsed onto the floor.