“Mira, Mom made your favorite dish…”
I lifted the lid: seafood soup and spinach.!!
Seafood–I’m allergic Spinach–I used to vomit every time they forced it on me as a child.
“No thanks.” I shoved the thermos into the hallway. “If you have something to say, say it.”
Dad’s face darkened.
“Verena’s engagement is coming up. The Harringtons don’t want this lawsuit dragging them down. Withdraw it–say it was all a misunderstanding.”
Of course. Always about Verena.
For a moment, a foolish part of me still hoped for affection. But the thought made me laugh bitterly.
“What if I don’t?”
“Then we’ll storm your company and tell everyone you’re a lunatic who beats her sister!” Mom’s voice sharpened. “No one will keep you after that ”
“Miranda, you have no choice!”
I slammed the door in their faces and let their curses fade into the dark. Hugging my knees, I cried until morning.
At the trial, my parents slapped a thick stack of bills on the table.
“This is the cost of raising her for twelve years–five hundred and eighty thousand! Plus Verena’s medical bills and mental distress–one point two millions
I flipped through the receipts. Piano lessons. Designer bags. A Maldives vacation.!
“What does any of this have to do with me?”
I threw down my diary. “Write this instead: my meals never cost more than two dollars. I wore Verena’s hand–me–downs. I never even received compulsory schooling. Apart from food and a roof, you never spent a cent on me.“”
The judge frowned, rifling through the diary.
“But what about your sister’s injuries? Didn’t you push her down the stairs?“||
“Your parents‘ demand for compensation is reasonable.”
Just then, Gareth stood.
“Your Honor, we have new evidence.”
The courtroom screens lit up with footage from Mr. Wallace’s camera on the third floor. Verena tugged at my suitcase, threw a tantrum, then suddenly clutched her stomach and hurled herself down the stairs.
Gasps erupted. My parents turned chalk–white.
In the end, the court ordered me to pay them fifty thousand. After subtracting what they owed me over the years, I owed nothing.
That day, I severed all ties with the Locke family.
Online, the verdict spread like wildfire. #BlasedParents and #EvilSister climbed the trending list. Under pressure, Verena stormed into my rental late that night, fresh from the hospital.
“Miranda! Are you trying to kill me?”
I silently opened a livestream and asked the question I’d buried for years.”
“Why did you insist I go buy snacks back then?“”
“I didn’t!” Her eyes darted away.
“You told me the shop had a new chocolate bar and pushed me to go. You knew that street was dangerous–kids had already gone missing. Our parents warned us not to wander. Why did you let me?”
“I was only two! I don’t remember anything!”
She feigned innocence.
I sneered. “Verena, do you really think you can still fool me by playing dumb?”
