Six Years Paying For A Ghost

That rainy night I was in a car wreck with my stepsister. Only I came out alive.

Kinsley vanished in that pileup, and I became the scapegoat the whole city could point at, carrying all of it.

Then yesterday, a routine audit at work turned up the truth — she never died.

I followed the trail to her new address and found her living in a house with a yard. Beside her were my fiancé and their three-year-old daughter.

In the children's photography studio she runs, my father and stepmother were laughing over coffee, dressed in things my salary paid for.