Chapter three

It was just a moment of impulse, Veronica, don't take it to heart. She's your sister after all. She's scared you'll take her place once you return.

That's what my mother said.

My own biological mother, Margaret Weston, side-hugging the already crying Tiffany.

In front of all 20 guests.

The same mother who lost me at age 4 in a supermarket, who spent 18 years putting my missing poster on milk cartons, who told the press "my heart has a hole the shape of Veronica."

Now her arm was around the fake.

Tiffany sobbed harder into my mother's Chanel. Perfect, practiced sobs. "I didn't mean it, Mommy! I was just scared! I wrote that when I was emotional! Sister, I'm sorry!"

My father, Robert, cleared his throat. "Veronica. Your sister has been with us for 18 years. She is... sensitive. You have to understand, you just came back. This family has a balance. Don't break it on the first day."

Balance.

He meant: Don't make us choose. Because if we have to choose, we will choose the daughter who has been making us look good at charity galas for 18 years, not the one who just showed up with a Richard Mille and an attitude.

Ethan, my little brother, looked at me. He was angry for me. He opened his mouth—

I stopped him with a look. No. Let them show me who they are.

I sat down. Picked up my fork. Cut my steak.

"You're right, Mom," I said calmly.

Margaret smiled, relieved. Tiffany peeked at me through her fake tears, thinking she won.

"She IS my sister," I continued, chewing slowly. "And she IS scared I'll take her place. Which is why she kept her dresses in MY closet, kept her diary under MY mattress, and wrote about how she'll make you send me back where I came from."

I looked at my mother straight in the eyes. The same eyes as mine.

"But Mom, let me ask you one thing. When you lost me 18 years ago, did you tell the police 'it was just a moment of impulse, don't take it to heart, the supermarket is scared?' Or did you look for me?"

My mother's face went pale.

"When Tiffany wrote 'she won't last a week' — that's not impulse. That's a plan. You raised her for 18 years and never taught her that writing plans to destroy your biological daughter is wrong? Or you did, but she didn't listen because she never had a single consequence in her entire spoiled life?"

Tiffany screamed, "I SAID I'M SORRY!"

I finally stood up, pushed my chair back. The loud screech made everyone jump.

"No. You said 'sorry' because you got caught. There's a difference."

I picked up her diary from the table and dropped it into her lap.

"Keep your apartment. You don't need to move out. This house has 12 bedrooms. You can stay. After all, guests are supposed to stay in the guest room, right? And my room is MY room now.

Every words hit them like a bullet. Then.

I turned to my parents.

"And Mom, Dad — don't worry. I'm not here to take her place. You can't take a place that was never yours. I'm here to take MY place. The one you left empty for 18 years. If that scares her, maybe she should be scared."

I walked upstairs.

Behind me, I heard Ethan say loudly, "Mom, you messed up. Big time."

And I heard Tiffany whisper to my mother, "See? See how mean she is? She hates me!"

But my mother didn't answer right away this time.

That pause — that one second of silence from Margaret Weston — was my first real win in this house.