Chapter 39 It Should Have Been You
The second I stepped through the front door, a coffee cup came flying at my head.
I ducked on instinct. It missed my hair by an inch and shattered against the wall behind me, hot liquid splattering across my red dress.
“Did it hit you?” my father asked sharply as he rushed over.
I shook my head. “No.”
“Good.” He turned on Marissa, voice rising. “What the hell are you doing?”
Marissa was shaking with fury. “She ruined Apple,” she spat. “She deserves to pay for this.”
On the sofa, Apple was folded in on herself, sobbing into her hands. Her makeup was smeared, mascara streaking down swollen cheeks. Marissa turned away from me and pulled her into her arms, rocking her, stroking her hair like she was still a child.
“She ruined me,” Apple cried, her voice breaking as she pressed her face into Marissa’s shoulder. “She wanted to destroy me. Everything I worked for. She hates me.”
Marissa tightened her grip on her without ever taking her eyes off me.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she demanded.
I tilted my head slightly. “That depends. Are we talking about tonight?”
Apple lifted her head then.
“You set me up,” she said. “All of it was fake. The recordings. The messages. You edited everything. You stole my private conversations and humiliated me in front of everyone. Do you have any idea what that does to someone’s future? Mom, tell her.”
I studied her for a moment, then exhaled slowly.
“You’re giving me far too much credit,” I said calmly. “I don’t have those skills. I don’t know how to manipulate audio, edit screen recordings, or fabricate videos. I barely manage my own phone settings.”
Marissa’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“And the staircase footage?” my father demanded. “Explain that.”
I didn’t hesitate. “That video was on my phone. If it ended up somewhere else, then someone accessed my device without my consent.”
Marissa’s eyes narrowed. “How convenient.”
“What’s convenient,” I replied evenly, “is blaming me instead of asking how that content existed in the first place.”
Apple stiffened.
“So now you’re the victim?” she snapped.
“I didn’t say that,” I said. “I said hackers exist. You just explained how easy it is to fabricate things, remember?”
Apple shook her head, her movements tight with disbelief. “This is insane. You expect us to believe some random hacker targeted only me?”
She looked straight at me. “You’re lying. You’ve always been jealous. You couldn’t stand that people liked me, that I got into Juilliard, that I succeeded where you didn’t.”
“I’m saying it’s possible,” I answered. “More likely than me suddenly developing advanced technical skills overnight.”
“I can’t believe you,” Marissa snapped. “Instead of standing by your sister, you’re adding to her pain. You know what she’s been through. After the kidnapping. After everything. She’s fragile, Ashley.”
Apple clutched at Marissa’s sleeve, crying harder now, like the sound itself was proof.
My father dragged a hand down his face. “Your sister has been in therapy for years,” he said heavily. “Anxiety. Nightmares. Medication. And now this happens.”
There it was.
The familiar shield. The excuse that had protected her for years.
My thoughts drifted to a memory I wished I could erase. A day burned into my mind, not only for what happened, but for what I learned years later.
I had been eight. Apple was seven. Marissa had taken us to Walmart to buy school clothes. It was supposed to be ordinary.
Marissa hovered over Apple, fussing, cooing, helping her choose outfit after outfit. I stayed close, quiet, holding the single dress I had been allowed to pick for myself.
Apple wanted a toy. A plush bear.
Marissa said no.
The tantrum that followed was spectacular. Loud. Dramatic. Designed to punish.
I stayed back, silent. I had learned early not to interrupt when Apple didn’t get her way. It was a rare moment when Marissa didn’t give in. For once, Apple didn’t win.
Apple, however, had never accepted no as an answer.
She slipped away when Marissa wasn’t looking, determined to take the bear herself.
Marissa didn’t notice right away. She was busy rifling through clothing racks, muttering about prices and discounts. I stayed where I was, obedient, fingers curled around the cart handle.
When Marissa finally looked up and realized Apple was gone, panic ensued.
It was the first time I ever saw her cry.
I remember standing there, forgotten, invisible, watching strangers gather, as Marissa screamed and paced. Police flooded the store. The parking lot filled with flashing lights.
An Amber Alert went out. Reporters appeared.
Apple was found twelve hours later with a middle-aged man who had bought her the toy.
Alive. Disheveled. Shaken.
The community rallied around Marissa. They called her brave. A devoted mother who had survived the unthinkable.
But Apple was never the same.
No one knew for sure what happened during those twelve hours. Apple refused to talk. The medical exam showed she had not been fully sexually assaulted.
The incident became the axis our family revolved around.
At first, the trauma was real. Understandable. But as the years passed, Apple learned how to wield it. How to use it. Sympathy became currency.
Marissa turned her guilt outward.
“Why didn’t you watch your sister?”
“You should have protected her.”
“You were older. You should have known better.”
I was eight. Apple was only eight months younger.
What exactly was I supposed to do?
But the real blow had come years later in my past life, when I was lying on a filthy mattress. My mind had been fogged, drifting in and out, but some things had still cut through the haze.
Apple had leaned close and whispered something I had never known.
“It should have been you.”
At the time, the details had barely registered. It took months in this life before the memory returned in full, piece by piece, like a film reel spliced back together.
Apple had told me that Marissa had confessed to her years earlier. Marissa had apologized. She had said she had seen the man in Walmart that day. She had noticed him watching us. She had felt something was wrong. She had considered intervening.
But then she had thought that if the man took Ashley, if he killed her even, she would finally be free.
I remembered how Marissa had told me to fetch crayons from the next aisle.
I obeyed.
I stood there, staring at rows of bright boxes, trying to figure out which ones were Crayolas. Everything looked the same.
Then he appeared.
A tall young man, so big it felt like he filled the entire aisle just by standing in it.
“You shouldn’t be alone,” he said gently. “Where’s your mom?”
I didn’t answer. I just pointed at the shelf. “Which ones are Crayolas?”
He followed my finger, then reached up easily, pulling down a box I couldn’t have gotten myself.
“These,” he said.
I took them.
Then he added, “You shouldn’t talk to strangers. It’s dangerous.”
The words startled me.
I wasn’t supposed to.
I grabbed the box and ran back, heart pounding, hoping Marissa wouldn’t realize I had spoken to him. I didn’t want her to get mad.
Twice more, Marissa sent me away on small errands.
I hesitated each time. I wanted to stay where it felt safe.
But I went anyway.
Later, when everything fell into chaos, he was there again.
He stayed with me. Noticed I was alone. That I was scared.
Back then, I was grateful for it.
Looking at it now, he couldn’t have been more than eighteen.
And that day, no matter how many times Marissa sent me away, it wasn’t me who was taken.
It was Apple. Willful. Defiant. Uncontrollable.
Marissa lived with that guilt.
Instead of owning it, she sharpened it into a weapon and aimed it at me.
Marissa’s voice cut through the memory. “You don’t get to act innocent. Every time something goes wrong, it somehow traces back to you.”
“So why didn’t you?” I asked quietly. “Why didn’t you protect her?”
She straightened abruptly. “How dare you speak to me like that.”
I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t need to.
“How dare you,” I replied calmly, “use her trauma as a shield every time she hurts someone.”
Apple shook her head violently, tears spilling fresh and fast.
“I don’t understand why she hates me so much,” she sobbed. “I never did anything to her.”
Marissa turned on me instantly. “This is exactly what I mean. You provoke her and then act surprised when she falls apart.”
“That’s enough,” Dad snapped. “This is not the time for accusations.”
“When is it the time?” I asked, looking at him now. “Because it never seems to be.”
I looked back at Marissa.
“How can you be so biased? Are you even my real mother?” I asked.
Dad stiffened.
Marissa laughed once, sharp and brittle. “Of course I’m your mother. Don’t be ridiculous.”
Dad opened his mouth, then closed it again.
I tilted my head slightly. “Are you sure?”
Dad’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Ashley, stop this.”
“I’m serious,” I said. “Because I can’t think of another explanation for why you defend her no matter what she does, and blame me no matter what happens.”
Marissa’s face hardened. “You’re being cruel.”
“No,” I said softly. “I’m being honest.”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Right on cue.
Everybody's eyes turned toward the front door.