Chapter 1

Bonnie Simmons's gambling-addict father beat me until my bladder ruptured, and now I could leak urine at any moment.

My mother said, "At least it isn't life-threatening. Rest a while and you'll be fine."

My father handed me a letter of forgiveness. "Sign it. Bonnie can't have a biological father with a criminal record."

I refused. I insisted on pressing charges.

The fake heiress cried like her heart was breaking.

My mother counseled her through it. My father helped her gather evidence for the trial.

They were my biological parents, and they never once took my side.

I asked them why.

My mother wiped Bonnie's tears while she answered.

"Bonnie didn't do it on purpose. She had no idea her biological father was a violent maniac!"

My father tried to reason with me, all patience and weight.

"Enough of this, Gertie."

"If you think about it, this whole mess is your own fault!"

"You're the one who provoked his brutality!"

1

I stood there completely dumbstruck.

I almost wondered if I was hallucinating.

But my father's eyes were mocking, his expression light and untroubled.

That was proof enough that he'd really said it.

"Blaming the victim? Are you even my father?"

"The paternity test back then must've been faked. There's no way I'm your real daughter!"

A thin film of tears blurred my eyes as I stared hard at my father's refined, scholarly face, searching for any crack in it.

He set down the papers in his hand, walked over to me, and said with complete seriousness,

"Gertie, calm down!"

"A paternity test cannot be wrong!"

"Look at you right now. You're like a dog provoked into a frenzy, snapping at anyone within reach."

My mother rose from the sofa too, nodding in agreement.

"We understand how you feel."

"But what good does putting Eugene Whitney away actually do?"

"Will it make you spry and lively like before?"

"You just have to wear a colostomy bag. It's not like you're dying!"

Beside her, the fake heiress, Bonnie, looked at me with reddened eyes, pitiful and fragile.

"Gertie, yes, my biological father did this, but it has nothing to do with me. I'm a victim too. Why do you insist on holding me responsible for what he did?"

"Just because I have a father like that, does that mean I deserve to be bullied?"

The tears fell, clear and glistening, the moment she willed them.

As if she were the one who'd been beaten half to death.

My mother quickly sat back down and pulled her into her arms. "Don't worry. With your father and me here, no one will ever bully you!"

My father gave me a warning look. "If you're going to say Bonnie was in on it with Eugene Whitney, you'd better produce evidence. Otherwise I will defend Bonnie to the very end!"

My heart felt cold, like it had been soaking in ice water.

They knew I had no evidence.

Because before all of this, Bonnie had played the gentle, thoughtful older sister, doting on me at every turn.

She gave me her room. She took me out for good food. When people at school talked behind my back, she was the first to stand up for me.

The unease, the anxiety, the guardedness I'd carried home with me had all slowly settled under her comfort.

Until the day she suddenly called me. On the phone, she screamed in terror,

"Gertie, help me!"

"Dad—"

I panicked.

I knew exactly what Eugene Whitney was like when he'd lost money or been drinking.

So I rushed over, calling the police on the way.

By the time they arrived, Bonnie was safe. I wasn't.

I lay collapsed on the floor like a fish gasping in a dried-up pond, half dead.

And Bonnie was huddled in the corner, smiling to herself.