Chapter 2 - THE SHADOW IN THE MIRROR
The echo of Ella’s words hung in the quiet hallway long after her footsteps faded into the dining room. You really don't want to be me.
In our family, Ella had always been the golden benchmark. She had flawless skin, posture like a ballerina, perfect straight-A report cards, and a wardrobe that looked like it had been hand-picked by a high-end stylist. My mother spoke Ella’s name with a reverent sigh, as if referring to a masterpiece she wished she had painted herself. "Look at Ella’s hair today," Mom would say. "Look at how poised Ella is."
I locked myself in the downstairs bathroom and stared into the mirror above the sink. The red flush on my cheeks hadn't faded. I traced the outline of my jaw, the curve of my waist under my oversized beige sweater. Was I really as out of shape as my mother made me feel? Was I a walking disappointment?
Outside the door, the muffled sounds of the post-dinner clear-up rattled on. I heard plates clattering, Aunt Diane’s sharp, laughter-less voice, and then my father’s low, rumble of an argument.
"You embarrassed her, Rachel," Dad was saying, his voice strained. "In front of twenty people. My sister, your sister, the kids..."
"I embarrassed her?" Mom’s defensive pitch soared through the drywall. "Mark, she’s slipping! Her grades dropped to a B+ in chemistry, she wears those baggy clothes like she’s trying to hide, and that green formal dress she picked out is two sizes too small for the way she's built right now. If I don't hold her accountable, who will?"
"She’s fifteen, Rachel! She’s a child!"
"Ella is fifteen too, Mark! And Diane doesn't have to nudge Ella because Ella respects herself!"
Hearing them argue about me as if I were a failing financial investment made my stomach turn into a tight knot. But under the anger, a cold spark of curiosity flared. Why did Ella look so terrified when she gave me those earrings?
I waited until I heard the sound of footsteps heading upstairs before I slipped back into the hallway. The dining room was half-empty now. Uncle Rob was asleep in the recliner in the den, and my little brother Ben was sitting on the rug, silently building a fortress out of discarded cloth napkins.
"Hey, Ben," I whispered, kneeling next to him.
He looked up with big, solemn eyes. "Are you mad at me, Audrey?"
"For what?"
"For offering you my pie. I thought... I thought Mom wouldn't yell if you ate mine instead of yours."
My heart broke a little right there. I pulled him into a side-hug. "I'm not mad at you, buddy. You're the sweetest person in this house."
"Ella left her purse on the bench," Ben pointed out, nodding toward the entryway bench. "Aunt Diane yelled at her for forgetting it."
I looked at the small, sleek leather bag Ella had left behind. It was a designer handbag Aunt Diane had bought her for her fifteenth birthday. I picked it up, intending to run out to the driveway to give it to her before they drove off back to Upper Arlington.
As I lifted the bag, the top flap popped open. A tiny, clear plastic container tumbled out onto the carpet.
I bent down and picked it up.
It wasn't lip gloss or compact powder. It was a prescription bottle, but the label had been partially scratched off. Only a few words were legible: Amphetamine Salts - Take 1 tablet daily for appetite suppression.
Next to the bottle lay a small black notebook with a leather strap. The front page had a date written in Ella’s neat, slanted cursive from just three days ago:
May you like
Daily Limit: 400 calories. Ran 6 miles on treadmill. Fainted in the shower—Mom told me to drink black coffee and stay focused. If I gain half a pound, I lose my phone for a month.
My breath caught in my throat. I stood frozen in the quiet hallway, holding the tiny black book that contained the horrifying truth behind the "perfect" cousin my mother had weaponized against me for five years.
