or most of my life, Valerie could take what she wanted and leave me to deal with the consequences. But after she destroyed the one expensive thing I’d ever bought for myself, I finally stopped being the sister everyone expected me to be.
From the beginning, Valerie always came first.
My mother died giving birth to me. When I was five, Dad married Diane, who came with a one-year-old named Valerie.
I didn’t mind much at first, except for the cake.
Picture my eighth birthday. One slice of chocolate cake left on the plate.
From the beginning, Valerie always came first.
I’d been eyeing it all night.
Diane looked at it, looked at four-year-old Valerie, and slid the plate across the table.
“She hardly got any,” Diane said.
“It’s my cake,” I said.
“Nora. Don’t be jealous.”
That was the first time I heard those words.
It was nowhere near the last.
