Then he stood up, walked over, and gripped my chin tightly, looking down at me. “If you’re going to be a replacement, then learn to act the part.”
He wanted me to be like Emma Jones.
And what kind of person was Emma Jones?
To everyone else, she was a delicate, fragile flower – a precious gem that needed to be handled with care, a girl who would shed tears over a dead butterfly on the roadside, saying, “How tragic.”
But only I knew her true nature.
To frame me, she once killed my pet kitten.
How did she do it? She tore out its intestines and gutted it, then tossed the remains into the studio where I worked part-time.
She stood in front of everyone and cried, “Oh my God, Evelyn! How could you treat your pet like this?”
Then she ran into Jim’s arms, sobbing, “Sister, I know you don’t like animals, but you could have given it away instead of killing it!”
That day, I felt like I was suffocating, as if I were dying.
I went at her in a rage, desperate to avenge my kitten.
But no one would listen to me. They all stood behind Emma, supporting her.
I became the monster who abused animals, condemned and ridiculed by everyone.
How could I possibly learn to be as cruel and deceitful as Emma?