Seven years after my elder sister married into the marquis’s household, she died in childbirth, leaving two children behind.
The year after her death, the household sent a matron to propose a marriage.
She urged my father’s principal wife: “Your eldest girl died so young, leaving those two little ones motherless.
Your second daughter was born to a concubine.
You’ve gone to the trouble of raising her all these years—why not make her his second wife?
You’d save yourself a dowry, and she could help bring up your grandchildren.”
My heart sank.
Then the woman who had always treated me so coolly flung a cup of tea in her face.
“You’ve killed one of my girls, and now you want the other?
Go fuck yourself!”