I always thought she’s the lucky one. Beautiful, intelligent, vivacious, fair-skinned with light eyes whereas I was the ugly duckling. Nobody could tell we were sisters. People often joked that I was adopted. Relatives left me out of things on purpose. She always got the invites to events, the best gifts, the best of everything.
I caught her crying in her room one day and saw the scars on her thighs and stomach. Filled with self-hatred for the person she was.
She blamed herself for the ongoing abuse by our parents’ best friend.
She believed I was the lucky one.
(c) Over Cups of Coffee 2014
Until next time,