Little did I know that marked the beginning of my personal hell.At age two, Ashley nagged me to play in the park, then grabbed a stone to crack another child's skull.When the child's parents stormed over for answers, she blinked innocently, pointed at me, and started bawling. "Evelyn did it! I begged her to stop, but she turned on me, too!"Childish and clueless on rebuttals, I mumbled repeatedly, "It wasn't me. I didn't..."The disappointment in our parents' eyes haunted me relentlessly, replaying in my mind on every sleepless night.From that day on, Ashley seemed to discover a twisted new game. Whenever she caused trouble, she'd pin the blame on me without fail.Our parents grew increasingly impatient with my explanations, dismissing them as lies. The final straw came when she stole a neighbor's wallet, leading to another confrontation at our door."I swear I didn't do it. It was all Ashley!" I implored. "Why wouldn't you believe me?"Clinging to that faint thread of famil
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