I walked back into the room with my heart feeling like it was on fire. “Go pack a small bag for me,” I told her firmly.
She looked at me with wide, confused eyes. “What are you talking about, Gabby?”
I took her shaking hands in mine and forced her to look at me. “Tonight, you stay here and pretend to be me, and I’m going back to that house as you.”
Geneve began shaking her head frantically, telling me I was insane and that Francine would hurt me too. But I couldn’t be stopped, so I took photos of every bruise on her body and sent them to a lawyer I knew.
I hid a small digital recorder inside the pocket of her oversized sweatshirt and pressed my apartment keys into her palm. “For once, that woman is going to mess with the daughter who knows how to fight back,” I said.
I drove to Scottsdale wearing Geneve’s clothes, including her worn-out sneakers and the simple gold band our father had given her for her birthday. Francine never really looked at Geneve, seeing only a target for her control rather than a person.
When I entered through the side garage door, the only light illuminating the house came from the kitchen. Francine was standing there waiting for me, looking as if she had been simmering in her own bitterness all evening.
The worst part wasn’t the cold smile she gave me, but the sound of her locking the heavy door behind me. I realized in that moment that she wasn’t going to be satisfied with just verbal abuse tonight.
Francine stood by the sink in a silk robe, looking like a respectable lady of the community. “How nice of you to finally show up,” she said without turning around. “I thought you were going to stay out and cause another scene.”
I lowered my head and slumped my shoulders just like my sister would. “I just came here to go to bed,” I murmured.
She let out a harsh, dry laugh. “Go to bed? After being out god knows where, acting just like your pathetic mother?”
I felt my blood boil at the mention of my mom, but I knew I needed to wait for her to incriminate herself. I didn’t say a word, which only seemed to irritate her more as she stepped closer to me.
“When I speak to you, you look at me,” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. I raised my face slightly, and for a split second, a flicker of doubt crossed her features before vanishing behind her ego.
“Ever since I moved in, you’ve been a snake,” she spat, grabbing my wrist with a grip that was practiced and cruel. “You’re a manipulative brat who tries to come between your father and me, just like the woman who raised you.”
“I haven’t said anything to Dad,” I whispered, playing the part of the victim.
“Don’t you dare play the victim with me,” she snarled, pulling me closer. “If you keep spreading lies, I’ll make sure no one finds you after I throw you out on the street.”
The recorder was tucked safely in my pocket, capturing every word of her tirade. “You can’t keep hitting me,” I said clearly.
Her face twisted into a mask of pure fury. “Oh, really? I can do much worse to you than a few bruises, you little wretch.”
She shoved me with all her might against the sharp edge of the granite counter. The pain flared up my spine and I had to grip the edge of the marble to keep from collapsing onto the floor.
But I didn’t stay quiet this time; I shouted at the top of my lungs. “Don’t you ever touch me again!”
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