I Became Guardian of My Twin Sisters After Mom Died — My Fiancée Pretended to Love Them Until I Heard What She Really Said

Jenna moved in two weeks after the funeral, saying she wanted to help. She packed school lunches for the girls. She braided their hair. She sang lullabies she found on Pinterest.

And when Maya wrote her name and number as another emergency contact in her glittery notebook, Jenna wiped away a tear and whispered, “I finally have the little sisters I always dreamed of.”

I thought I was lucky. I thought my fiancée was an angel doing exactly what my mother would have wanted for the twins…

But boy, was I wrong.

Last Tuesday, I came home early from a site inspection. The sky had turned honte overcast and heavy by the time I pulled into the driveway. It was the kind of weather that always seemed to remind me of hospital waiting rooms.

The house looked peaceful from the outside. Maya’s bike was still on the lawn, and Lily’s muddy gardening gloves were tucked neatly on the porch rail like always. I unlocked the door quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone if they were napping or busy with homework.

Inside, the hallway smelled like cinnamon buns and craft glue. I took a step forward and paused when I heard Jenna’s voice from the kitchen.

It wasn’t warm or gentle. It was low and cutting, like a whisper wrapped in ice.

“Girls, you are not going to be staying here for long. So, don’t get too comfortable. James is doing what he can, but I mean…”

I froze. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“I’m not wasting the final years of my 20s raising someone else’s kids,” Jenna continued. “A foster family would be much better for you anyway. At least they’ll know how to deal with your… sadness. Now, when the final adoption interview is scheduled, I want you both to say that you want to leave. Understand?”

There was silence. Then a soft, choked sound.

“Don’t cry, Maya,” Jenna snapped. “I’m warning you. If you cry again, I’ll take your notebooks and throw them away. You need to grow up before you keep writing your silly stories in them.”

“But we don’t want to leave,” Maya whispered. “We want to stay with James. He’s the best brother in the world.”

I felt my stomach twist.

“You don’t get to want anything. Go do your homework, girls. Hopefully, you’ll be out of my hair in a few weeks, and I can go back to my wedding planning. Don’t worry, you’ll still be invited, of course. But don’t think that you’ll be… bridesmaids or anything.”

I heard footsteps rushing up the stairs. Seconds later, the girls’ bedroom door shut too hard.