Chapter 2

Audrey's POV

Vincent scowls. “What the fuck does that mean? You don't want it? You've spent your whole life competing with Chloe. Now we're giving you what you wanted, and it's beneath you?”

Dad backs him up at once. “Enough of the performance. We told you you'd get your share. Don't start acting like we're making some great sacrifice of you.”

Mom lets out a tired breath. “It's always something with you.”

I look at their faces. All three have already decided I can't be believed.

I start remembering things.

In third grade, I won the state science fair. My teacher couldn't stop praising me at our parent-teacher conference. Chloe cried when we got home because she wanted a trophy of her own. By bedtime, mine had been put away in the storage closet for her. Dad said, “It's a trophy, Audrey. Why can't you let your sister have it?”

In middle school, my best friend asked me to her sleepover. Chloe found out and begged our parents to send her in my place. They did. I stayed home. When my friend asked why I hadn't come, I couldn't make myself tell her.

Then there was prom. Six months of pay from my after-school job went toward my dress. Chloe took one look and decided she preferred it to hers. The next day, my dress was in her room. A cheap imitation hung in my closet instead.

I hadn't wanted a competition. I'd wanted something I could keep. In our family, the moment anything belonged to me, someone was ready to hand it over.

Her lies had let her take Vincent too.

Chloe raises her eyes to mine. There's nothing frail about the look she gives me. She's pleased with herself.

I go upstairs. Their laughter follows me, comfortable and affectionate. I'm not part of it.

The days after that are oddly peaceful.

With my signature on the donation form, they no longer need to corner me every other day.

Vincent stays at the house to look after Chloe. Downstairs, they laugh together over the smell of frying bacon and fresh coffee. I spend most of my time in my room, keeping out of their way.

While scrolling through Instagram one afternoon, I come across Chloe's latest photo.

Vincent is carrying her breakfast on a tray. Beneath it, she's written, “Nothing better than being looked after.”

The replies keep coming.

“You two are adorable!!”

“Wait, is he your boyfriend? You're getting the princess treatment!”

“So jealous. When are you two going public?”

For a long time, I read without moving. Then I close the app.

They all think he's hers. Not one of them realizes that attentive boyfriend is married to me.

I try to shrug it off. I'll be dead soon. Why should it matter who gets to call him her husband afterward?

I'd thought they might leave me alone for whatever time I had left.

On the fourth night, sometime after midnight, voices downstairs wake me.

I find Chloe sobbing, barely able to get words out. My parents hover beside her in a panic. Her face is red, and I can smell the alcohol from where I'm standing.

“I... there was someone in the road. I hit him...” She gulps for air. “I don't know if he's okay. I got scared and drove off...”

I stop on the bottom step. It isn't hard to piece together.

Rules have never mattered much to Chloe. A few days at home must have been more than she could stand. It looks like she went drinking with friends, got behind the wheel, and came straight home after hitting someone.

Vincent arrives and hears her out. For an instant, he looks furious. Then he reins it in and spends a moment calming her before turning to me.

“Audrey. You're the one who'll go to the police.”

I go still.

He says it as though there's nothing to discuss. “You're identical. They won't know the difference. You're older, and you're in better shape. You can handle taking her place.”

“My lawyer will deal with the victim's family. I have contacts in the DA's office. You'll spend a few days inside at most, then we'll get you out on bail.”

My parents seize on the idea.

“Yes! That's what you have to do. Your sister couldn't possibly survive jail in her condition!”

I almost tell them. I have a tumor in my brain. I might not live to see another month.

But they look so certain they're being reasonable that I can't get the words out. Why bother? They wouldn't believe me, let alone care.

“All right.”

Vincent gives a satisfied nod and immediately calls 911.

I return to my room and shut the door.

There's still so much in here I don't want to leave behind for someone else to sort through. I get a trash bag. Wedding pictures, family snapshots, birthday presents from Vincent—I start dropping them in.

Before I'm finished, dizziness nearly knocks me over.

I catch the bed and sink to my knees. The room goes blurry. Warm drops land on the floor beneath my face.

I cover my nose. In seconds, blood is running between my fingers.

I'm running out of time.

Vincent opens the door. He stops when he sees me on the floor, blood on my hands.

“What's wrong?”

I snatch up some tissues and hold them to my face. “I fell. I'm okay.” I try to make it sound ordinary.

He studies me, frowning, then lets it go.

“The police are downstairs. My lawyer's coming, so don't worry. A few days, that's all. He'll deal with the family and arrange your bail. I've had people inside told to look after you.”

He leaves. I listen to him walk away down the hall.

Still on the floor, I look at the wad of red tissues.

I'm not sure I even have a few days.