Chapter 3

Megan has hated me all her life. She thinks I steal George’s love just by existing. She plays the perfect big sister on the surface, then frames me for everything behind my back.

She even rolled down the stairs herself once and accused me of pushing her—anything to drive me out.

The last stream of sunset painted us in orange that day.

George held Megan as she convulsed, blood smeared down her legs, dialing 911 with a murderous glare at me.

“I’m sorry, George,” Mom cried, kneeling to beg his forgiveness, “I failed to discipline Grace. That’s why Megan’s hurt so badly. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

Her palms cracked against my face again and again.

“Mom, I didn’t push her. I didn’t!” I sobbed, but the only answer I got was harsher punishment.

To placate them, Mom didn’t even let me explain—she shoved my head into the wall. Darkness exploded behind my eyes, and I slid down, blood pooling at the baseboard.

Right before I blacked out, I heard the ambulance siren. Mom didn’t look back at me—she ran to them.

The sunset bled away and darkness swallowed the city. After that, my world stayed dark.

That night, the ambulance took both me and Megan. She had a scrape. I spent hours in emergency, then two more weeks in the hospital with a concussion.

Megan thought she’d covered it perfectly. She thought it would drive me out for good. But she forgot our neighbors had seen everything, and they’d known me since I was little. They stood up for me.

In the end, Mom chose “family harmony” over me. She declared the incident never happened and demanded we all move on.

Since she couldn’t throw me out, Megan switched tactics—bullying and tormenting me wherever Mom couldn’t see.

She ruined everything Dad had left me and took my room like it was hers by right. She even hid needles in my quilt, laughing as I yelped in pain.

I told Mom. She never believed me—only Megan’s one-sided sobs. Even with proof, the second Megan cried, Mom stood on her side without question.