THE WRONG SISTER

CHAPTER 5: FIVE YEARS AGO: THANK YOU LINDA

It had been three weeks since the magazine.

Three weeks since Anika whispered the truth, since Linda told her to bury it, since her life quietly split in two — the girl she used to be, and the woman growing a child she hadn’t planned for.

Every day felt heavier.

The mornings slower. Her body changing in ways she couldn’t explain, couldn’t stop. She was still in their small apartment, curled into herself, doing her best to stay invisible — like if she moved too loudly, the world might find her.

She barely left the house.

But on that Tuesday afternoon, Linda burst in like a storm.

> “Turn on the TV,” she said breathlessly, dropping her shopping bags without care. “Quick.”

Anika didn’t move.

> “Ani,” Linda snapped. “It’s Damien. Channel 4.”

Her stomach tightened. But she reached for the remote.

The screen blinked on, and there he was.

Damien Calloway.

The man who’d disappeared after one night. The man who’d unknowingly left a child in her womb.

He was standing at a press conference, clean-shaven, sharp-suited, effortlessly confident. Flashbulbs sparked like stars around him as he spoke to a swarm of reporters outside a towering glass building.

> “Calloway International expands to Milan,” the anchor gushed. “With new developments in London’s West End, CEO Damien Calloway continues his climb as one of Europe’s most powerful business moguls.”

Linda let out a low whistle. “Damn. He’s gotten even hotter.”

Anika said nothing.

She couldn’t.

She just stared.

There he was. Alive. Smiling. Shaking hands.

While she sat in an old hoodie, heart bruised, legs tucked beneath her, invisible.

Her hand drifted to her stomach, now softly rounded.

He didn’t know. He probably never even thought about her again.

She could still remember the way his voice sounded — deep and quiet, like thunder far away. The way he looked at her in the dark, like she was the only thing that mattered.

> Liar.

> Coward.

And still… her chest ached.

> I hate you, she thought bitterly.

And I think I love you.

She turned off the TV.

---

That night, Linda sat beside her with a glass of wine, her expression oddly thoughtful.

> “You’ve been cooped up in here too long,” she said lightly. “You need air. Maybe even… a fresh start.”

Anika blinked. “A fresh start?”

Linda nodded, running a perfectly manicured nail along the rim of her glass.

> “I talked to a friend. She has a small cottage about an hour outside the city. Quiet. Private. No paparazzi, no stress. Just time to… figure things out.”

Anika hesitated.

> “What about you? Rent? Everything here?”

> “We’ll figure that out. I’ll handle things.”

Linda placed a gentle hand on her sister’s shoulder.

> “This isn’t forever, Ani. Just a few months. Somewhere peaceful. For you and the baby.”

---

Anika lay awake that night staring at the ceiling again.

Maybe this was the right thing. Maybe disappearing for a while would help her heal. Help her forget. Help her stop waiting for a man who didn’t even know she existed.

She placed her hand on her belly, whispering softly:

> “We’ll be okay, baby. Just you and me.”

**********

The cottage was smaller than Anika imagined, but quiet in the way she needed. It smelled of wildflowers and old wood, and the trees outside creaked softly when the wind passed through — not like the screeching horns or sirens that never seemed to sleep in the city.

Linda stepped through the door like she owned it.

“Isn’t it perfect?” she said brightly, spinning in a slow circle. Her heels tapped against the creaky floorboards. “Told you it’d feel like a retreat.”

Anika hovered in the doorway for a moment, her hand resting on the chipped frame. Her feet ached. Her stomach throbbed from motion sickness and too little food. Even breathing felt heavier these days — like her ribs were shrinking.

She finally stepped in and brushed her fingers over the dusty windowsill.

“It’s nice,” she murmured. “Are you sure it’s okay? I don’t want to overstay—”

“Stop.” Linda’s voice was soft, but firm — practiced. “You’re my sister. You’re carrying a child. You need rest. Not guilt.”

it's more like a thank you, for all those years you have juggled school and work to take care of me ani.

She smiled as she dropped her designer duffel on the couch and pulled out a folder — thick, sealed, manila.

“I’ve already spoken to the landlady. Everything’s handled. Utilities too — I put them under my name so you don’t get overwhelmed. Just breathe, Ani.”

Anika blinked. “Wait… you did all that already?”

Linda tossed her hair back with effortless grace. “Of course I did. I’ve got your back. Always.”

She smiled — warm, glowing — the kind of smile Anika hadn’t seen from her since they were teenagers.

And just for a second, Anika allowed herself to believe it.

Because Linda being responsible for once—outside her glamour life, was really surprising.

---

The next morning, Anika woke to the smell of scrambled eggs and the hum of a laptop. Linda sat cross-legged at the small wooden table, typing something fast with red nails and zero urgency.

“I’m just filling out some hospital forms,” she said over her shoulder. “In case of emergencies. They ask for backup contacts and all that medical stuff. You know, standard.”

Anika, still half-asleep and sore from her child doing somersaults all night, mumbled, “Okay…”

Linda looked up casually. “Oh — and just to make things easier, I put my name down as next of kin. If anything happens, they’ll call me first. That’s alright, yeah?”

Anika hesitated, one hand over her belly. “Yeah. Sure.”

“And since you’re off the grid now, I registered the address in my name. Cleaner, you know? I’m just trying to keep things safe for both of you.”

Anika didn’t ask for more. She didn’t see the flicker of calculation that passed behind Linda’s eyes.

She was too tired. Too grateful. Too trusting.

---

Over the next week, Linda became everything Anika had secretly needed — the driver, the shopper, the one who argued with nurses about appointments. She brought prenatal vitamins, boiled ginger water, even remembered which kind of biscuits Anika liked with tea.

She took baby bump photos with an old film camera, giggling as she snapped them. “So you’ll remember how strong you were,” she said.

And little by little, she gathered things: Anika’s ID card. Insurance details. Her signature on innocuous-seeming forms that were “just paperwork.”

> “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Anika whispered one night, sipping warm tea with both hands wrapped around the cup.

Linda smiled from across the couch, legs tucked beneath her like a girl who had never done a cruel thing.

“You’d fall apart,” she said softly. “But I won’t let you.”

---

That night, after Anika fell asleep curled around her stomach, Linda stayed awake.

The house creaked with wind. The flickering kitchen light buzzed above her like static. She sat at the table, the manila folder open again — thicker now, full of shadows.

Inside:

An intake form from the local health clinic

Copies of her own ID next to Anika’s

A certificate draft, waiting for final input

There were lines that needed filling:

“Mother’s full name.”

“Address of guardian.”

“Secondary applicant (optional).”

She picked up the pen. Smooth. Confident. No hesitation.

She stared at the blank space, then slowly began to write.

Linda Vale.

She smiled as she dotted the final i. The paper didn’t resist her — it welcomed her.

> “You weren’t ready for this,” she whispered under her breath. “You needed me to do what you couldn’t.”

She closed the folder and tapped her nails against the table, thoughtful.

Outside, the wind howled.

Inside, Linda began to rewrite motherhood — one quiet line at a time.