Chapter 2

"Do you even want to be the woman of this house anymore, Doris?" Emit' s voice was sharp, cutting through my daze.

He gestured towards the kitchen. "Gigi is a guest. Are you just going to stand there and let her do all the work?"

I lowered my head, not wanting him to see the tears welling in my eyes. I brushed past him without a word.

He probably thought I was ashamed. He was wrong. I was just tired of him seeing me break.

In the kitchen, Gigi Kelley was bustling around like she owned the place. She was preparing a fruit platter, her movements graceful and practiced. Isadora was right beside her, helping chop vegetables, chattering away like they were best friends.

It was ironic. Isadora used to follow me around like a puppy, always telling me how much she admired me. That all changed after Everleigh died.

"Doris," Gigi said, her voice dripping with fake politeness. "Could you help me cut up these mangoes?"

She didn't wait for an answer, just pushed the bowl of fruit and a sharp knife into my hands.

I flinched back. "I can't."

I'm allergic to mangoes. Deadly allergic.

The bowl slipped from my grasp, crashing to the floor. The knife clattered beside it, bouncing off the tile and slicing a thin, deep line across Gigi' s calf.

Blood welled up instantly, bright red against her pale skin.

"Oh!" she cried, clutching her leg. She sank to the floor, tears streaming down her face. "Doris, I know you don't like me, but did you have to do that?"

She started to rock back and forth, her breathing becoming ragged. "The knife... the blood... it' s just like that day..."

It was a performance. A perfect imitation of someone having a PTSD attack.

"It was an accident!" I said, my voice shaking. "The knife fell!"

No one was listening.

Emit rushed in, his face a mask of fury. He saw Gigi on the floor, bleeding and hysterical, and didn't hesitate. He shoved me, hard.

I stumbled backward, my foot catching on the leg of a chair. I fell, my hip hitting the hard floor with a sickening crack of pain.

"I' m allergic to mangoes!" I yelled, trying to push myself up. "It' s on my medical records! I have the report!"

Isadora sneered. "Allergic? I've never heard of that. You' re just making excuses."

"It happened after I had the twins!" I insisted, the pain in my hip making me dizzy. "The report is in my room. I can prove it."

I tried to stand, to go get the piece of paper that would vindicate me.

"Enough," Emit' s voice was a low growl. He wasn't even looking at me. His eyes were fixed on Gigi' s pale, tear-streaked face. It was the same face as Everleigh's.

He knelt, scooping Gigi into his arms as if she were made of glass. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. "I'm here."

He carried her out of the kitchen, walking right past me as if I wasn't there, as if I wasn't crumpled on the floor in pain.

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself not to cry. With every ounce of strength I had, I pulled myself up, leaning on the counter. My leg throbbed with a fiery pain.

I limped back to my room, the silence of the house pressing in on me.

Just as I reached for the doorknob, a hand shot out and stopped me.

Isadora.

She slapped me, the sound echoing in the hallway. "That was for Gigi," she hissed.

"And this," she said, her eyes burning with a hatred that was three years old, "is for Everleigh. You killed her, you bitch. I told everyone you did it, and I'll keep telling them."

A white-hot rage I hadn't felt in years surged through me. I swung my hand back and slapped her, hard.

"I didn't kill her!"

Isadora just laughed, a cruel, triumphant sound. "It doesn't matter. No one will ever believe you. Not Emit. Not my grandparents. Not even your own mother. She likes Gigi more than you, you know."

The fight went out of me. She was right.

I stumbled into my room and found the allergy report. My hands shook as I stared at the doctor's signature, the clinical words that proved my innocence.

What was the point?

I tore the paper into tiny pieces, letting them flutter to the floor like dead leaves. Evidence meant nothing in a world where no one was willing to listen.