My mother, Karen, a high school principal, believed in fairness, a twisted kind. Her fairness meant if one twin got something, the other had to get the exact same, no matter what. I was Sarah, her academically gifted twin. Emily was my sister, less inclined to study. This fairness was our family's core problem.
My SAT score was 1550. Emily' s was 950.
The city lights blurred below the apartment building rooftop.
My mother was downstairs, probably on the phone.
She was planning for us to attend the same local community college.
"It's only fair, Sarah," she' d said. "You can help Emily."
The wind was cold. I thought about jumping.
Then, flashing lights. Police. Someone had called them.
Downstairs, Karen didn't look at me.
She talked to the officer. "She's just being dramatic. Always wants attention."
The officer looked uncomfortable.
When he left, Karen' s face hardened.
"You want to steal Emily's moment? Her college acceptance?"
Her hand shot out. A sharp slap. My cheek burned.
"Go to your room. Don't infect Emily with your disgusting illness."
She meant my depression. I was diagnosed two years ago.
Karen insisted it be kept secret.
"It wouldn't be fair to Emily if people knew," she'd said. "It would ruin my reputation."
No extra care for me. That wouldn't be fair either.
She walked away, leaving me by the door. Abandoned again.
This was her fairness. This was my life.