Chapter 2

Mom' s campaign to make me the villain in our small family world started subtly.

"David, Sarah was so moody today," she' d say at dinner, loud enough for me to hear from the living room. "I'm just trying to help her with college, and she barely speaks."

Dad would mumble something noncommittal. He knew arguing was pointless.

The premonition of the allergic reaction, the feeling of my throat closing, it haunted my sleep. I' d wake up gasping, my heart pounding.

The stress was immense. I was jumpy, tired.

Mom noticed. "You look terrible, Sarah. Are you not sleeping? You need to take better care of yourself if you want to succeed at Oceanview."

Her concern was a weapon.

Dad would sometimes find me in the kitchen late at night, staring blankly at the wall.

"You okay, kiddo?" he'd ask, his voice low.

I'd just nod. I couldn't tell him about the premonition. He' d think I was losing my mind.

But his quiet presence was a comfort. He knew. He didn't know the details, but he knew I was suffering.

Mom' s control was relentless. She' d ask what I was doing, who I was talking to if I was on the phone, what I was reading.

She "needed" to drive me everywhere, even to the library, "just to make sure you're safe, dear."

I remembered Dad trying to stand up for me once, years ago. I wanted to join the school newspaper. Mom said it was a waste of time, filled with "weirdos."

"Susan, let her try," Dad had said, his voice surprisingly firm. "She's a good writer."

Mom had turned on him, her voice like ice. "Oh, so now you're taking her side against me? You always do. Just like you always preferred Emily."

The argument had raged for an hour. Mom had cried, accused him of not loving her, of undermining her.

Dad had eventually backed down, looking defeated. I didn't join the newspaper.

I felt trapped in a loop, her words a constant barrage.

"You're so ungrateful, Sarah. I do everything for you."

"If you really loved me, you wouldn't want to go far away for college."

"You're just like your father' s side of the family. So stubborn and selfish."

One evening, I tried again, a desperate plea. "Mom, please. I just want to visit the campus out of state. Just to see it."

She laughed. A short, sharp, dismissive sound. "Don't be ridiculous, Sarah. It's too expensive. And you wouldn't like it. It's too far. You belong here, with me."

Her certainty was absolute. Her world was the only one that mattered.

Dad was in the room. He shifted uncomfortably. "Susan, maybe just a visit wouldn't hurt..."

Mom whirled on him. "Are you insane, David? Whose idea was this? Hers or yours? You're encouraging her to leave me!"

Her voice rose, cracking. She grabbed a glass from the coffee table and hurled it at the fireplace. It shattered, spraying glass.

"I can't take this! You both hate me!" she screamed, tears streaming down her face.

I flinched, retreating into myself. Dad just stood there, his face pale, his hands clenched.

Mom stormed out of the room, sobbing.

The silence she left behind was heavy, broken only by the sound of my own ragged breathing.

Dad slowly bent down and started picking up the larger pieces of glass.

"I'm sorry, Sarah," he whispered, not looking at me.

I wasn't just documenting her words anymore. I was documenting her rage. The cameras were rolling.