Chapter 4

I retreated to my room, the sting on my cheek a dull throb.

My room. It was still the same as when I' d returned home at eighteen. Basic furniture, plain walls. A stark contrast to Ashley' s redecorated princess suite down the hall, filled with mirrors and pink fluff.

I remembered when I was ten. My parents' business was struggling. They sent me away to live with Great Aunt Millie, a distant relative in a poor, rural county, for eight years.

"It' s just temporary, Sarah," Mom had said, not meeting my eyes. "Until things get better."

Things got better for them. They never got better for me there. Aunt Millie was kind but poor and sick herself. I learned to be self-sufficient, quiet, invisible.

When I finally came back, I was a stranger in my own home. Ashley, then a bubbly pre-teen, was the center of their universe. I was an afterthought, the quiet girl who didn't quite fit.

My phone buzzed. It was Mark.

My heart did a strange little flip. Maybe he was calling to check on me after the dinner disaster.

"Sarah?" His voice was cold. "What the hell did you do to Ashley?"

Not "Are you okay?" Not "What happened?"

"She had an allergic reaction. Your mother is furious. You really upset Ashley."

"Mark, there were no mushrooms. She faked it."

"Faked it? Why would she fake it? Sarah, you need to stop being so paranoid about your sister. She' s trying to build a career, she' s under a lot of stress. The last thing she needs is you causing problems."

His words, so quick to defend her, so quick to blame me. It was a pattern. Ashley' s "needs," Ashley' s "career," Ashley' s "feelings" always came first.

For him. For all of them.

I realized it with a chilling clarity. He wasn't my partner. He was hers, in all but name.

"Right," I said, my voice flat. "My mistake."

"Just try to be more considerate, okay?" he said, then hung up.

Considerate. I thought about the 99 entries in my journal. Each one a testament to my "consideration" being met with their neglect.