Chapter 2: The Secret Inside the Handbag
My father had always been the calmest person in our family.
That was what made people underestimate him.
He wasn’t the kind of man who yelled when he was angry.
He became quiet.
And when Daniel Carter became quiet, everyone should have been worried.
Olivia stood in the middle of my room, staring at him.
“Dad, seriously. Give me my bag.””
He didn’t move.
“Why?””
“Because it’s mine.””
He looked at her.
“Are you sure?””
The confidence in her face flickered.
“What does that mean?””
My mother stepped forward.
“Daniel, this is unnecessary.””
He turned toward her.
“No. What’s unnecessary is watching your daughter destroy something her sister worked for and pretending it doesn’t matter.””
My mother looked away.
That hurt almost as much as before.
Because she knew he was right.
Olivia crossed her arms.
“You’re making me the villain over a dress?””
My father placed the handbag on my desk.
“No. The dress showed me something.””
“What?””
“That you believe anything belonging to Emily has less value than anything belonging to you.””
Olivia laughed nervously.
“That’s ridiculous.””
“Is it?””
The room went silent.
My father opened the handbag again.
He pulled out a small envelope.
Olivia froze.
“Dad.””
He looked at the envelope.
Then at her.
“What is this?””
She reached for it.
“Nothing.””
He stepped back.
“Nothing?””
My heart started beating faster.
I had no idea what was happening.
My father opened the envelope.
Inside were several printed documents.
He scanned them.
His expression changed.
“What did you do?””
Olivia’s face turned white.
“Nothing.””
“Try again.””
My mother looked confused.
“What are those?””
My father handed her the papers.
She read them.
And then her face changed too.
“What?””
I stood there silently.
Nobody explained.
Finally, my father looked at me.
“Emily, did you know your sister has been telling people she designed the charity project you created at school?””
I blinked.
“What?””
Olivia immediately spoke.
“That’s not what happened.””
My father raised the papers.
“These emails say otherwise.””
I felt like the floor moved beneath me.
For months, I had worked on a community project that helped provide school supplies for children who couldn’t afford them.
It was the one achievement I was truly proud of.
Olivia had praised me at first.
Then suddenly, people started congratulating her.
I thought it was a misunderstanding.
I thought maybe she had just mentioned helping me.
I never imagined she had taken credit.
“You stole my project?”” I whispered.
Olivia looked annoyed.
“Don’t be so dramatic.””
The same words.
Again.
My father’s jaw tightened.
“Why is that your answer every time you hurt someone?””
She looked at him.
“Because everyone gets over things.””
“No,” he said.
“People get tired of begging you to care.””
That sentence hit harder than anything.
Olivia looked away.
My mother placed the papers down.
“Daniel, she made a mistake.””
He stared at her.
“A mistake?””
“Yes.””
“She didn’t accidentally take credit. She didn’t accidentally cut the dress.””
Nobody answered.
My father picked up the ruined fabric.
Then he walked to my closet.
He opened the door.
Inside was a box.
My old notebooks.
My awards.
My college acceptance letter.
Things I kept because I never felt like anyone else would protect them.
He took out the acceptance letter.
“Emily.””
I looked at him.
“You were accepted into Westbridge University with a scholarship.””
I nodded.
“Yes.””
“Why didn’t you tell me Olivia was telling people she helped you get accepted?””
My stomach dropped.
Because I had heard those comments.
At family gatherings.
At dinner.
Olivia always said things like:
“She only applied because I encouraged her.””
“She was lost until I helped.””
And everyone laughed.
I never corrected them.
Because correcting Olivia always became a fight.
“I didn’t want another argument,” I whispered.
My father closed his eyes.
That seemed to hurt him more than the dress.
“You’ve been staying silent to keep peace.””
I looked down.
“Yes.””
He nodded slowly.
“Then I think it’s time someone else loses their peace.””
Olivia stepped back.
“What does that mean?””
My father picked up her handbag.
“It means tomorrow morning, we’re having a conversation with someone you care very much about impressing.””
Her expression changed.
“Who?””
He didn’t answer.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
I kept thinking about the dress.
About my mother watching.
About my sister smiling while she destroyed something I loved.
At 2:13 a.m., my phone lit up.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
I opened it.
My blood went cold.
Because the message contained a photo of Olivia.
May you like
And a caption that said:
“Your sister has been hiding this for months.””
