Page 213 of This Life of Mine

I told her Anna never accused me of anything. Never cried about me. Never looked at me like she was scared. I told her if I was really the monster she made me out to be, wouldn’t Anna have something to say too?

That’s when Lina stared at me like I’d proved her point without realizing it.

She told me she protected Anna from seeing it.

Kept her out of the room. Took her by the hand and led her away before things escalated.

She told me Anna was spared because she made sure of it, and if I ever touched Anna, our mother would make sure I paid for it.

She was right about one thing. I knew better than to lay hands on Anna.

She was our mother’s baby. The one she hovered over. The one she shielded more than the rest of us.

If I had laid a hand on her, I would have our mother to answer to. And that would’ve been worse than anything I ever endured.

I remember thinking that didn’t count as abuse. That knowing where the line was, meant I hadn’t crossed it.

So yeah—maybe I had a temper. Maybe I got angry. Maybe I said things I shouldn’t have.

But the way Lina tells it? Like none of that mattered. Like restraint didn’t count. Like only what she remembered was real.

That’s not how it was.

At least, not the way I remember it.

Her memories don’t match mine, and somehow I’m supposed to believe hers are the real ones?

She exaggerated. She twisted things. Made herself the hero and me the villain.

That’s what she always did.

When the guard called time, she stood up and stared at me with disgust, like she’d already made her decision.

“I don’t know who you are,” she said. “But you’re not my brother.”

She never came back.

She cut me off like I was nothing. They all did.

Visits stopped. Calls stopped, like blood meant nothing once it became inconvenient.

They let me rot in here with nothing. No family. No second chances.

I haven’t forgotten that.

The video loops again.

She shifts as the EMT finishes, pulling her hands back into her lap. Her shoulders stay tight. Defensive. Like she’s bracing for something that already happened.

For a moment—something crawls up my spine.

A flash…

Her hand raised. A knife. My brother crying, scared behind her. Her voice shaking, yelling my name like it was a warning.

I shove the memory away.

That’s not how it was.