Chapter 4 - CRACKING THE FACADE
For the next two days, I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the red digital numbers of the bathroom scale on Thanksgiving dinner, followed by the terrifying entries in Ella’s diary.
My mother was ramping up the pressure for the Winter Formal fitting scheduled for Thursday afternoon. Every meal at our home had become a battlefield. She would linger over my plate, sighing whenever I took a slice of bread, or making passive-aggressive remarks like, "Are you sure you need a second helping of chicken, Audrey? Thursday is only forty-eight hours away."
My father remained passive, trying to keep the peace by staying late at his office in downtown Columbus. Ben stayed in his room, playing video games with his headphones on to drown out the tension.
On Wednesday night, Grandma Helen came over unannounced.
She walked into the kitchen carrying a ceramic dish covered in foil—her signature homemade apple crisp.
Mom was at the counter, sipping herbal tea. "Mom, what is this? You know Audrey doesn't need baked goods right now."
Grandma Helen set the dish down on the island with a firm thud. "Rachel, sit down."
"I have emails to answer—"
"I said sit down." Grandma’s voice carried the authority of a woman who had raised three children through tough times. Mom grudgingly sat on a barstool.
"I’ve been watching you for months," Grandma began, her tone calm but edged with steel. "But what you did on Thanksgiving crossed a line that I will not allow in this family. You humiliated your daughter in front of relatives to feed your own insecurity."
"Insecurity?!" Mom scoffed, her face turning red. "I am trying to keep my daughter healthy! Look at Diane's house! Ella is thriving! Ella is poised, focused, disciplined! Diane knows how to parent!"
I was standing at the top of the stairs, listening through the banisters. Hearing my mother bring up Diane again made my blood boil.
I couldn't stay quiet anymore. I marched down the stairs, carrying my phone.
"She isn't thriving, Mom," I said loudly, stepping into the kitchen.
Mom turned around, startled. "Audrey, go back upstairs. This is between adults."
"No, it isn't!" I shouted. "You keep holding Ella over my head like she's some trophy! You want me to be like her? Do you even know what Aunt Diane is doing to her?!"
"Audrey, don't be ridiculous—"
I pulled up the photos I had taken of Ella’s diary and her prescription bottle on my phone and shoved the screen in front of my mother's face.
"Look at it!" I demanded. "Aunt Diane gives her illegal appetite suppressants! Ella fainted in the shower last week because she only ate 400 calories! She is starving herself because Aunt Diane measures her waist with a tape measure every Sunday night!"
The kitchen fell dead silent.
Mom stared at the screen. Her eyes scanned the blurred lines of text, the image of the pill bottle, the horrifying daily calorie logs.
"This... this is fake," Mom stammered, though her voice shook. "Diane wouldn't..."
"She would," Grandma Helen said softly, looking at the photos with deep sadness. "Because Diane has been obsessed with appearances since she was sixteen years old. And you, Rachel, have been so busy competing with her that you turned your own home into a battleground."
Mom looked from the phone to me, her lips trembling. But instead of apologizing, her defensive walls slammed back up.
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"Even if this is true," Mom whispered bitterly, "Diane's business is Diane's business. Tomorrow is your dress fitting, Audrey. You will be ready at three."
She turned and walked out of the kitchen, slamming her bedroom door behind her.
