They’re all staring at me like I’m crazy. Like I’m dangerous. Like my own sister needs to be protected from me.




“Andi, please,” I beg. “Tell them it’s a mistake. I’m innocent! You know that. Do you really think I would kill anyone?”




This is awful for her. I can see the agony in my sister’s eyes. But she shakes her head, ignoring her unshed tears.




“Andi!” I cry, refusing to acknowledge the tears in my own eyes. “You know me! You know I’d never do anything like that. Please!” I can barely see for the tears blurring my vision, but I can see well enough to know when she backs away. Shaking her head again, she turns and runs the opposite direction, towards the body.




My knees collapse, sending me to the ground. A pair of police roughly pulls me back on my feet. But by now I am sobbing so hard I can no longer stand on my own.




The cops drag me away, into their perfectly painted, very official-looking car. They are disgusted with me; their body language practically screams it.




Before the car pulls away, I look out the window to see my sister kneeling on the ground next to the body, a stranger’s arm around her shaking shoulders. I should be the one with her. To comfort her, to cry with her, to let her know she’s not alone. Not some stranger who probably doesn’t even care.




All in one day, I have been accused of murder, been rejected by my sister, and lost my mother. Could this day get any worse?