Chapter 1
At my uncle’s funeral, my little sister addressed the mourners, her voice trembling for all to hear.
“Mom was having an affair with Uncle Ben,” she sobbed. “My sister Sharon isn’t Dad’s real daughter. I wanted
to keep this secret forever, but Mom, what you’ve done… it’s gone too far.”
I’m Sharon. And it’s true; I’ve always been the spitting image of my uncle.
My mother, her face a mask of agony, denied everything. But with Uncle Ben dead, there was no way to pro-
ve it.
My father, in front of everyone, humiliated my mother. He was going to throw us out.
I quietly took out my phone and started a live stream. The truth is always so much more brutal, and so much
more entertaining, than a lie.
1
My mom stared at my sister, Mandy, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Mandy, why would you say that?” she whi- spered, her voice cracking. “I’m your mother. How could you do this to me?”
If I’m being honest, of the three of us kids, Mom always loved Mandy the most. It was a constant refrain in
our house: “She’s the youngest. You’re the big brother and sister, you have to let her have her way.”
So Mandy grew up as the family princess, spoiled rotten.
Now, she cowered behind our father, tears streaming down her face. “Mom, I know you love me, and I love you, too! But you and Uncle Ben… you shouldn’t have done those things. And then you had Sharon.”
She glanced at Dad. “Daddy loves me so much. I just couldn’t lie for you anymore.”
“Every time Uncle Ben came over, you two would sneak off together. I was always too scared to say anythi ng. But up now.”
his time… you got him killed. I have to s
My aunt, Uncle Ben’s widow, lunged at my mother, screaming, held back by a crowd of relatives.
My father’s hand cracked across my mother’s face. “You whore,” he snarled, his face contorted with rage. How could you do this to me? You’re no better than an animal,”
I rushed to shield my mom, and he kicked me so hard I crumpled to the floor.
He pointed a shaking finger at my face. “You bastard!”
Every eye in the room was on me. My uncle’s funeral portrait was right behind my head. The resemblance was uncanny. We looked like we were cast from the same mold.
So no matter how vehemently my mother swore her innocence, no one believed her.
Especially when the one accusing her was the daughter she had cherished for twenty years.
Everyone believed Mandy.
