I Took Her Fall, Now They Disown Me

I went back to my room, with everything still being exactly as I had left it. My yellowed college acceptance letter still sat on the desk.

Once, I had been the one my family was proud of.

A family portrait hung on the wall. In the photo, I looked happy and full of promise. My sister, Josephine Walker, nestled against me while beaming at the camera.

She had just gotten her driver's license that year and insisted on taking me out for a drive in her new car.

But then a stray cat darted into the road. Josephine swerved to avoid it and hit an elderly man passing by. She was horrified, shaking uncontrollably.

I looked at her pale face, at the tears streaming down her cheeks, then calmly called the police.

"It was me. I hit him," I said.

I took responsibility for everything. Josephine's life was just beginning, and I couldn't let this ruin it. But what about mine?

I reached up and took the family portrait down from the wall. The glass had already come loose from the frame because of the humidity.

I gave the glass a slight bend, and it shattered with a sharp crack.

Then, I picked up the sharpest shard and held it against my wrist. I could hear Josephine's desperate sobs all over again, see the blood running from my parents' knees, and remember the promises they'd made with such certainty.

It turned out it had all been a lie.

I closed my eyes and made the cut without hesitation. Blood spilled onto the acceptance letter on my desk, staining it red.

I could also feel the strength and warmth draining from my body. I was freezing.

I curled up on the floor, wrapping my arms tightly around myself. Tears slipped from the corners of my eyes.

But somehow, it felt good.

From now on, Josephine could hold her head high. She was free from the shame of having a murderer for a brother. My parents wouldn't have to live with other people's judgment because of me anymore.

At last, they could finally be free of me and start their lives over. And I wouldn't have to live with the pain of my illness anymore or face the way they looked at me.

Outside, fireworks boomed in the distance.

Right. It was Thanksgiving, a time when families came together.

"Dad, Mom, Josephine… I hope you have many more Thanksgivings together. I'm leaving now. I won't bother you anymore," I thought.

But if I could go back and do it all over again, I would still have pushed Josephine aside and taken the wheel myself.