Chapter 3

3 "You get to go on fancy trips with Grandma's money, but when I ask, Mom says no. Funny, isn't it? That I'm the unwanted one?"

"Grandma loved you best. You're so happy, aren't you? Rubbing it in my face. So great."

Tears welled. She looked like a delicate flower trembling in the breeze. Like the girl I'd seen clawing at Jake's neck that afternoon was a hallucination.

"Fine. I get it. I'm the loser. The unloved one. Happy now?"

She ran to her room, sobbing into her pillow. I hadn hadn't said a word. But somehow, I was the villain.

Mom glared, her heels clicking on the marble floor. The slap was coming. I looked up, all innocence.

"Mom, let her go. Use the money from my piano lessons."

Her hand froze. Stunned. Grandma's money was sacred to me. It was my future. The only love I'd ever truly known.

"Mom, I don't want you to be upset. Or Dad. You work so hard for us. It's just a workshop. Why not let her go?"

"There's still a thousand dollars left from the refund, right? Give it to her."

"I don't want her to misunderstand. Your love for us is…equal."

The "equal" made her flinch. She knew. It was a lie. But I had to play along. Sarah had a honeymoon to plan.

Before Mom could unleash her fury, Dad roared from upstairs. Sarah was swallowing sleeping pills.

Dad stopped her. But Mom was terrified.

"You little monster! You want to kill me? It's just a thousand dollars! Take it!"

"Every penny I earn is yours! You can have my life! What's money?"

Tears streamed down her face. Dad, pale, clutched his chest.

"Don't do this, sweetheart. Daddy's old. My heart can't take it."

He turned on me, eyes blazing.

"Ashley, can't you leave her alone? You want to drive her to her grave?"

"She's depressed because of you! What more do you want?"

My breath hitched. The storm. Always landing on me.

Sarah had a couple of bogus diagnoses and a flair for the dramatic. Two suicide attempts, three runaway episodes, and she was officially "depressed." My parents bought it hook, line, and sinker. Treated her like fragile glass. She got everything she wanted. I got the cramped storage room, her hand-me-downs, meals eaten huddled in the kitchen, out of her sight.

She learned fast. Every whim denied, a fresh bout of "depression." Sitting alone in the dark, scaring my parents. Wrist-slashing. Pill-popping. It worked. She got her way. I became the problem child. Because I was the only one stupid enough to point out the act. Each time, another "episode." Another punishment. Grandma's jewelry became Sarah's "little trinkets." My tutoring, my hobbies, her stepping stones.

All I had left was the bank card Grandma had slipped into my hand. My ticket to college. To escape. I had to protect it. Even if it meant playing along.