Chapter 4: Old Wounds, New Rules

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I was only eight then, when my half-sister stole the keepsake my mom left me—a silk robe.

I complained to my dad. He said,

“That robe was scratched by the neighbor’s cat. I’ll buy you another later.” He ruffled my hair, already distracted by paperwork or a cold beer.

Later, passing by my sister’s room, I saw her showing off her new robe to the other girls, bragging about how pretty it was, how fine the stitching was, and the shiny beads on it.

Amid their exclamations, I cut that robe to ribbons, stuffing the scraps into the trash with last night’s mac and cheese. The sound of fabric tearing was music to my ears—a wild, angry music.

When Dad arrived, my sister was pinned beneath me, too shocked to cry. Only when she saw Dad did she scream for help in fear. Her face was streaked with tears and tangled hair, the robe nothing but rags.

I held the bloody scissors, calmly looking at Dad.

“The neighbor’s cat ruined my robe. Dad, remember to buy me another.”

Maybe my gaze was too calm. Dad actually forgot to scold me. I walked out, step by step, along the wide path everyone made for me. The house felt suddenly smaller, the air crackling with the rumor of my fury.

The next day, an identical silk robe was delivered to my room. The box was wrapped in tissue paper, smelling faintly of lavender. I heard that my sister’s mom had to empty her savings just to pay for her daughter’s injuries.

After that, I never saw her near my room again. I’d carved out my own little kingdom, one act of vengeance at a time.

Stories about me spread throughout the city, saying I was cruel and cold, often sneaking out at night to hurt people. It was then that Rachel appeared by my side. She walked up to me on the playground, handed me a Capri Sun and a pack of peanut butter crackers, and sat down without asking if she was wanted.

The daughter of the county clerk once pushed me into the lake. I grabbed a rock, climbed ashore myself, and threw her into the water. I watched her flail, her dress ballooning like a jellyfish, until she was yanked out by a lifeguard.

She nearly drowned.

The county clerk petitioned the mayor, demanding my dad punish me severely. There was talk of expulsion, or counseling, or maybe even sending me away to a relative's house.

The mayor inquired about the incident, but no one dared speak up for me. Only Rachel stepped forward.

“It was Emily who was rude to Linda first. If there’s going to be punishment, it should be equal.”

The mayor understood the whole story and did not punish me. Instead, he ordered the county clerk to discipline his own kids. The gossips in town had a field day with that one.

Before, I only knew that if someone bullied me, I’d get back at them.

But Rachel taught me not to punish others at my own expense.

It’s not worth it.

Make others suffer, but never let them blame you. Rachel taught me to play the long game.

I warned her not to come near me.

“I’m trouble.”

Rachel didn’t listen.

“Good thing I brought backup.”

Later, whenever I got into trouble, Rachel always cleaned up after me. She was my fixer, my secret weapon.

No one called me cold-blooded anymore. They all said I was a pitiful kid who lost her mom, bullied by my aunt and sister. The story changed, and Rachel was the author.

I once asked Rachel why she helped me. Rachel said, with my reputation and family, maybe one day I could marry into the governor’s family, and she wanted to hitch a ride on my coattails.

I didn’t believe her. I laughed it off, but the truth lingered in the air between us.

Until I came of age and was engaged to the governor’s son, Rachel finally told me the truth.

She grinned and said, “I’m not from around here—like, not even from this universe. I just came to save your stubborn butt.” If she didn’t intervene, I would ruin the entire state. Now that my life was back on track, she was preparing to leave.

Rachel said, when her body here died, she would return to her original world.

She liked it there very much, and I couldn’t keep her by force.

It was Mark who made her stay.

At the time, I was also happy for her.

But I never imagined there would be a Sarah.