Chapter 2

The urgent care room was cold.

A nurse came in. "Your family is very concerned about your sister's ankle."

She looked at my bandaged hand. "You doing okay, honey? That was a nasty cut."

"I'm fine," I said. It was the truth, in a way I hadn't been before.

The pain in my hand was real, but the old agony in my chest was... quieter.

Through the partly open door, I saw them. My parents, Richard and Linda, fussing over Jessica, who was propped on a gurney, her face a mask of brave suffering. Ethan stood beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder.

They were a perfect tableau of concern.

I was invisible. Still.

Jessica, spotting me, managed a weak, pitying smile. "Oh, Sarah, you poor thing. Are you alright? It all happened so fast."

Her voice was syrupy sweet.

"She'll be fine," Linda said dismissively, not even looking at me. "Sarah's always been a bit clumsy."

"Yes," Richard added, his tone stern. "She needs to be more careful. Especially around Jessica, given her delicate health."

Delicate health. Jessica hadn't been truly sick in fifteen years. But it was their go-to excuse for everything.

Ethan's gaze flickered to me, unreadable, before returning to Jessica. "Just rest, Jessie. We'll get you home."

The familiar script. Jessica, the fragile victim. Sarah, the careless problem.

I remembered countless times.

Jessica "accidentally" tripping and scraping her knee, then crying until I was blamed for not watching her.

Jessica "misplacing" her expensive birthday gift, only for it to be found in my school bag, followed by accusations of theft and weeks of silent treatment.

Jessica "fainting" from "stress" before my art scholarship interview, causing me to miss it.

Each incident, carefully orchestrated. Each time, my parents siding with her, their disappointment in me a heavy cloak.

Ethan, in the years of their deception, had learned this script too.

He'd absorbed their narrative of me: the jealous, unstable younger sister, a constant source of trouble.

The pain of those memories was still there, a dull ache.

But the burning rage, the desperate need to make them see, to make Ethan understand – that was fading.

What was the point?

They would never change.

He would never see.

I wouldn't fight them anymore. I wouldn't try to claw my way back to a place I was never truly wanted.

Peace. That's what I wanted.

Even if it meant being utterly alone.

Later, back at the penthouse, Jessica found me in the guest room they'd assigned me, away from the main preparations for the engagement party.

She leaned against the doorframe, a smug little smile playing on her lips.

"So, the art program," she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Such a shame you have to leave. But I guess it's for the best. For everyone."

She was testing me. Prodding for a reaction.

The old Sarah would have risen to the bait.

"It's a good opportunity," I said, my voice even. I continued packing the small bag I'd brought.

"Right," Jessica said, her smile faltering a little at my lack of engagement. "And Ethan... well, he's so happy, Sarah. We're so happy. It's what he's always wanted. Someone stable. Someone... like me."

The implication was clear. Someone not like you.

I didn't look at her. I folded a sweater.

"I'm glad for you both," I said.

Her eyes narrowed. This wasn't the reaction she wanted. She needed me to be upset, to fight, to prove her narrative right.