My parents always favored my sister — but I never expected them to insist she walk down the aisle first at my wedding, in a white dress! Nonetheless, we agreed with a smile. My fiancé and I had a plan to make them pay. The trap was set. The fallout? Brutal and utterly poetic!
My parents made it clear from the beginning that my sister was the golden child, and I was the afterthought. I learned this lesson early and repeatedly, like a stubborn stain that never quite washes out.
Every birthday in our house was Melissa’s show, even when it was technically mine. Mom didn’t even ask me what flavor cake I wanted, she asked Melissa instead!
It sounds ludicrous, I know, but it really was that bad.
Family outings followed the same pattern. Beach or mountains? Ask Melissa. Movie or mini-golf? Whatever Melissa felt like doing.
My preferences hung in the air like ghosts. But it wasn’t worth arguing about. Nothing ever was.
By 13, I’d learned that everything Melissa did would be lauded, while all my mistakes and perceived faults would be relentlessly criticized.
I was the shadow to Melissa’s spotlight, but in that shadow was safety. If I was quiet enough, meek enough, agreeable enough, they ignored me.
Then came high school, and Melissa’s downfall.
The popular crowd that had embraced her in middle school suddenly turned against her. Without her social circle, she directed her cruelty inward — straight at me.
“Carla stole money from my purse!” she told Mom one night while I was doing homework in the next room.
“I did not!” I shouted from the dining room.
