Her father had died young. Her mother had run off with another man. She was about to be sent to a group home.
I was the one who begged my parents to take her in, to raise her like a second daughter.
I never imagined that behind the warmth she showed me, behind calling me her sister, she had been consumed by jealousy all along.
The year I turned eighteen, someone leaked confidential information from my father's company, plunging it into crisis.
My parents' marriage shattered too, torn apart by the other woman. They divorced.
I was devastated. All I wanted was to find my boyfriend, Jackson, and cry on his shoulder.
I pushed open the door to his apartment.
And found him tangled in bed with Millicent, my best friend, both of them naked under the sheets.
I found out later that it had started three months earlier, on the very night I'd had that fight with Arthur. She'd climbed into Jackson's bed of her own accord.
Twenty years of a sheltered, privileged life had left me hopelessly naive. I truly believed that sincerity would always be met with sincerity. That the people closest to me were as honest and open-hearted as I was.
So when I saw them, I broke.