I clenched the medical report in my bag, crumpled it into a tight ball, and tossed it into the trash.
It didn’t matter. No one would care anyway.
I just had to disappear quietly.
Once I was gone, everything that had belonged to me would be Carrie’s.
Maybe then they’d finally be happy.
Two years ago, I had driven Carrie to a competition. At an intersection, we argued.
I told her firmly that it was a no-left-turn lane.
She insisted I was just jealous, that I wanted her to be late. Before I could react, she lunged at the wheel, yanking it hard. We crashed straight into oncoming traffic.
When my mother and Nick arrived, they didn’t even bother asking what had happened.
My mother screamed at me.
“How were you driving?! Look at Carrie’s leg! Do you have any idea how important this is for a future dancer?! Why wasn’t it you who got hurt instead?!”
Nick’s expression was cold.
“Grace, how can you be so cruel? Were you trying to kill Carrie?”
They didn’t even look at me after that. They just scooped her up and rushed her into the ambulance, leaving me behind.
I stood there, watching the ambulance disappear down the road, wanting to call out.
I was hurt, too. My right arm wouldn’t move. My head throbbed painfully.
But I knew what they would say if I spoke up. “It’s just a scratch. Stop being so dramatic.”
That accident left Carrie with a three-centimeter scar on her leg.
I, on the other hand, had a shattered arm and twelve stitches in my head.
But Carrie fell into depression over that scar.
So my mother made her nutritious meals every day.
Nick bought her gifts, constantly trying to cheer her up.
I spent those days alone in my room.
My arm was filled with metal pins, and my head was wrapped up like a mummy.
I had to eat whatever leftovers my mother made while cooking for Carrie.
