My mom and I scraped by. I hand-washed our clothes to save on electricity, never dared to turn on the air conditioning in the summer, and shivered through winters with no heat. By 9 p.m. every night, we'd turn off all the lights to cut down the bills.
I convinced myself that Dad was making sacrifices for the family, and since Mom never complained, neither did I. But when New Year came, Dakota—my long-lost sister—returned, flaunting her wealthy boyfriend.
That was when the truth came out.
My mom had never been in a car accident. They made it all up. The whole point was to get me out of the way so my twin sister, Dakota, who had flunked her exams, could take my spot at Yale.
Furious at their blatant favoritism, I confronted my parents, but they locked me in the attic for three days and nights without food. When I finally gave in and pretended to go along with their plan, they let me out.
I tried to escape the first chance I got, but they begged for forgiveness, promising to make things right if I just stayed for one last family meal. Trusting them was my biggest mistake.
Dakota poisoned me.