Sharing a Grave with My Childhood Enemy

The day I was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer, I chose a grave for myself.

I wanted the tombstone to read: "In my next life, I won't be a Foster."

No more being the despised twin sister, no more biased parents and brothers.

I gulped down a whole glass of paraquat and waited quietly to die in the living room.

But then the cemetery office called.

"Sorry, another gentleman has also purchased that plot..."

"Miss Foster, we can compensate you."

"Would it be alright if we moved your plot slightly?"

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A string of expletives was on the tip of my tongue.