For years, I trusted my sister with my daughter more than anyone else. Then Bev started asking me to change our Friday routine, and I realized something had shifted inside my own home. What I uncovered forced me to question where sisterly love ended and something far more painful began.
My sister babysat my daughter every Friday for seven years. Then Bev whispered, “Mom, I only pretend to sleep. I see what Auntie does in your bedroom.”
At first, I thought she’d caught Stephanie snooping through my closet.
My ten-year-old grabbed my wrist.
“I’m scared she’s trying to become you, Mom!”
“What does that mean, baby?”
“I’m scared she’s trying to become you, Mom!”
Bev shook her head hard.
“I don’t know. That’s why I didn’t tell you sooner.”
***
Twenty-four hours later, I was sitting in the break room at work, watching my sister walk into my bedroom on a hidden camera.
Nine minutes after she’d put Beverly to bed, Stephanie checked the hallway, shut my door, and locked it.
Bev shook her head hard.
Then she opened my jewelry box.
She took out the Mother’s Day necklace Bev had bought me with $6 from her piggy bank and put it on.
