On the day I married Jasper Hawthorne, my younger sister, Fiona Winslow, died. After her death, Jasper, who had twice rejected her love, suddenly realized he had been in love with her all along. He turned all his anger on me, calling me the one who drove her to her death, saying I deserved nothing but misery for the rest of my life. Even my mother hated me. She screamed at me again and again, “Elara, why wasn’t it you who died?” But later, when I was really dying, they begged me to hold on and live.
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