My little sister, Emma, was born two months prematurely, came out bluer than a Smurf, and spent the first three years of her life hooked up to tubes and machines. Naturally, my parents were super protective of her. They’d stay by her side, buy every toy she wanted, and demand I ditch hanging with friends to babysit her. At first, I thought this was right; she was my chronically ill baby sister.
But then she got older. She got healthier. She no longer needed tubes or machines and could live normally. However, by this point, she had learned that being “sick” got her whatever she wanted, whether that be materialistic things or just sympathy and attention.
It started with her headaches mysteriously coming back whenever she was doing homework. My parents would take the homework away before replacing it with ice cream. By the time Emma turned eleven and I was sixteen, she had perfected her act. And that really bothered me because her “pain” only struck during my moments.
When I made varsity soccer, she developed mysterious stomach cramps that required my parents to leave my first game early. When I got accepted into college, she collapsed during my celebration dinner, and we spent the night in the ER where doctors found nothing wrong. The worst part was how she’d smirk at me when our parents weren’t looking. She even practiced her pained faces in the mirror. I tried showing my parents once, but Emma had already told them I was “jealous” of the attention she needed for her “condition.”
My boyfriend, Jake, lasted eight months before Emma got to him. She created fake screenshots of messages where I supposedly called her a faker and wished she would just die already. The breakup happened at a coffee shop. Jake slid his phone across the table, showing me the “evidence” Emma had compiled. He said he couldn’t be with someone who treated their sick sister so cruelly. Emma texted me a selfie wearing the hoodie Jake had given me.
That was my breaking point. For five years, I had watched her steal everything. So I started watching her closely, way more closely than anyone ever had. And I noticed a pattern. Every time she was “in pain,” she always grabbed her right side. She always called specifically for Mom. She always rated her pain between an eight and a ten. And she always “recovered” in exactly two to three hours, just long enough to ruin whatever I had planned.
Once I knew this, I developed my plan. And last Sunday, it went down better than I ever could have hoped for.
We were having our monthly family dinner. Twenty minutes before, I went up to the bathroom where I recorded a video. In it, I explained that I was about to make a fake announcement about getting promoted. I predicted exactly how Emma would react: she would wait for the applause to die down, then grab her right side and whimper for Mom. She would rate her pain as an 8, 9, or 10. She would need to lie down immediately and would ask Mom to take her to the hospital if the pain didn’t get better within twenty minutes.
At dinner, I stood up and clinked my glass. I got everyone’s attention, then announced I had just been promoted with a huge raise. Everyone applauded and congratulated me. The sound of clapping echoed through the dining room. I kept the smile on my face, but my eyes were fixed on Emma.
For a moment, she almost seemed genuinely happy for me. Almost. But I knew her too well. I saw when something changed in her expression. She looked around the table, noticing how all attention was focused on me, how I was shining. And then it began.
First, she stopped eating. She let her fork drop onto her plate with a low clink. “Emma, everything okay there?” my cousin Marcus asked.
“It’s nothing,” she murmured, but loud enough for at least half the table to hear. Her voice had that specific tone: brave, but with a hint of vulnerability that always melted people’s hearts.
And so began the show I had watched so many times before.
“It’s here, on the right side,” she said, pressing her hand against her abdomen. “It came out of nowhere.”
Conversations began to lower in volume. Glances turned toward Emma. My promotion, which minutes ago was the center of attention, began to disappear.
“Emma, what happened, my love?” Mom was already halfway up from her chair.
“Mom, it’s hurting quite a bit,” she whispered, her voice trembling just the right amount.
“On a scale of 1 to 10?” Dad asked, already grabbing the car keys. This question had become a sacred ritual.
Emma paused, as if she were really evaluating the pain. Another brilliant touch. “It’s… it’s an eight,” she said finally. “Maybe a nine.”
Of course, it was.
My promotion had become a distant memory in less than five minutes.
“Mom, I think… I think I need to lie down,” she whispered. And then she did that thing that always made me want to scream. She looked directly at me, just for a second, when she was sure no one else was looking, and she smiled. A small, almost imperceptible smile. The smile of someone who had just scored a goal.
“Maybe we should take her to the hospital,” Mom said, already standing up completely.
It was at that moment that I felt something snap inside me. It wasn’t anger anymore. It was something colder, more calculated.
I stood up too, but instead of grabbing my purse, I grabbed my phone. “Wait,” I said, my voice calmer than I felt. “Before we go running to the hospital, there’s something you all need to see.”
Emma looked at me, and for the first time, I detected a hint of suspicion, maybe even fear. “Sarah, this isn’t the time for this,” she said, her voice still weak. “I’m in a lot of pain.”
“I know exactly how much pain you’re feeling,” I replied, unlocking my phone. “And I know exactly when it’s going to pass.”
I held the phone in the air, my finger hovering over the play button. “I recorded a video twenty minutes ago. You’re going to want to watch this.”
Emma went completely still. “What video?” Mom asked.
I looked directly at Emma, seeing the exact moment she understood that something was terribly wrong. “A video that’s going to explain a lot,” I said and pressed play.
My voice came out clear and firm from the phone speaker. It’s 6:40 p.m. on Sunday. In twenty minutes, I’m going to make a false announcement about a promotion at work. When I do this, Emma will wait for the applause to finish, then she’ll hold the right side of her body and call for Mom. She’ll rate the pain as an 8 or 9. She’ll ask to lie down, and if she follows the pattern, she’ll suggest going to the hospital in exactly fifteen minutes.
The silence in the room was so dense I could hear the tick-tock of the wall clock. All eyes turned to Emma, who had become completely petrified, her hand still glued to her right side.
She always holds the right side, my recorded voice continued mercilessly. No matter what type of pain it is. Head, stomach, kidney. Always the right side. Always calls specifically for Mom first. And she always recovers in two to three hours, just enough time to ruin any important moment of mine.
“Emma, is this… is this true?” Grandma was the first to find her voice.
Emma tried to recover. “I… I don’t know what Sarah is talking about,” she stammered. “I’m really in pain. Don’t you believe me?”
“I’m not done yet,” I said, pausing the first video. “That was just the appetizer.” I navigated to the next folder, a collection I had been meticulously compiling. “Do you want to see what really happened at high school graduation?”
“Sarah, stop this,” Emma whispered, but her voice had lost all that theatrical fragility.
I played the next video. It was a recording from the school’s security camera. The image showed Emma in a side hallway five minutes before the ceremony. She was completely alone, checking her phone. Then, she put the phone away, looked around, and started practicing. There, alone in the hallway, my sister was rehearsing expressions of pain. She frowned, brought her hand to her chest, and made different grimaces in the reflection of the glass window.
“My god,” Aunt Sandra murmured, her hand flying to cover her mouth.
“Wait, there’s more,” I said. “Remember when Jake broke up with me? When he said I was cruel to my ‘sick’ sister?” Emma went pale. “Sarah, don’t.”
“These are the original messages she sent to Jake, pretending to be me.” I showed the screenshots I had managed to recover. The messages were cruel, saying horrible things about Emma that I would never think, let alone write. “She even researched my class schedules to know when I wouldn’t be home,” I continued. “She created a fake Facebook profile with my photo and started sending these messages.”
“Emma,” Mom said, her voice a broken whisper, “this can’t be true.”
“But it is,” I said. “And there’s more.” I moved to an audio recording. “This is Emma on the phone with her friend Beatrice last week.”
Emma’s voice came out clear. It’s really easy, Bea. Mom gets desperate if I say it’s a headache on the right side. And it always works better when Sarah is having a good day. Then everyone feels sorry for me and gets irritated with her for being insensitive. It’s fun to see her getting frustrated.
The silence that followed was deadly. Emma was white as paper.
“Emma,” Grandma said, her voice loaded with a disappointment that cut through the air. “How could you?”
“There’s more,” I said, relentless. “Do you want to see the video of when she ‘fainted’ at my 18th birthday party?”
The video showed Emma in the backyard, hidden behind the barbecue grill, testing different ways to faint on the grass. She practiced for fifteen minutes.
“Emma,” my cousin Carla said, “this is… this is sick.”
“It’s not sick,” I said, finally putting the phone away. “It’s calculated. Systematic. She turned manipulation into an art.”
Emma finally exploded. “Okay! Okay, damn it! You want the truth? I faked it! I faked it a few times, yes! But you don’t understand!” The tears started rolling, but now they were tears of anger, of frustration. “Do you think it’s easy being ‘perfect Sarah’s sister’? Sarah the smart one, Sarah the popular one! Do you know what it’s like to grow up in her shadow?”
“So you decided to sabotage me?” I replied coldly. “Destroy my relationships, ruin my important moments, make everyone think I’m a cruel and insensitive sister?”
“Because you had everything!” Emma screamed, all pretense of being sick completely abandoned. “The only way you’d pay attention to me was when I was sick!”
“But you weren’t sick,” Dad said, his voice low but loaded with deep disappointment. “You were lying. For years. And sabotaging your sister’s life in the process.”
“Cruel?” Emma laughed, a bitter sound. “You want to know what’s cruel? It’s growing up watching your sister get congratulated for breathing while you need to almost die for someone to notice you!”
“You were never almost dying!” I exploded. “At least not in the last five years! You were acting, manipulating, lying because it worked!”
“Because it was the only thing that worked!” she screamed back.
Uncle Roberto slowly stood up. “I think… I think I better leave.”
“No,” I said firmly. “Stay. All of you. Because there’s one more thing.” I looked at Emma with pure terror. “Tell them about the money,” I said, my voice low but sharp as a blade.
“What money?” Mom asked.
“The money you gave her to buy medicine,” I continued. “Those expensive medicines the doctor supposedly prescribed. The ones she said health insurance didn’t cover.”
Dad went livid. “Emma, tell me you didn’t.”
“She spent it on makeup, clothes, going out with friends,” I said. “I have the bank statements. I have photos of the purchases she posted on Instagram. You gave her over $3,000 in the last six months.”
“$3,000?” Grandma repeated, incredulous.
“Which she spent on everything except medicine,” I completed. “Because she didn’t need any medicine. Because she was never sick.”
Emma began to sob, but now no one moved to comfort her.
“Fifteen years,” Mom whispered. “Fifteen years believing, worrying, canceling plans, losing nights of sleep.”
“And I lost fifteen years of my life,” I added. “Fifteen years being treated as the cruel and insensitive sister. Fifteen years watching my important moments get destroyed.”
“Sarah, I… I’m sorry,” Emma cried. “I’m really sorry.”
“Now you’re sorry?” I said. “Now that you’ve been caught?”
“You all know now,” I said, looking around the table. “You all know what kind of person she really is.”
“No,” Mom said, her voice firmer than I had heard in years. “You’re going to stay here. You’re going to listen to everything. You’re going to face what you did.”
It was at that moment that I knew I had succeeded. It wasn’t just about exposure. It was about justice. Finally. But I still wasn’t finished.
“There’s one more thing,” I said, pulling up a chair and sitting directly in front of Emma. “The last piece of the puzzle.”
“Sarah, please,” she begged. “They understand now.”
“No, they don’t understand everything yet,” I replied. “Because you still don’t know about Mike.”
The name fell like a bomb. Emma went white as paper.
“Mike?” Mom asked, confused. “Your ex-boyfriend? But you broke up because he moved to Denver.”
“No,” I said, my eyes fixed on Emma. “We broke up because my dear little sister hit on him. And he… well, he fell for her.”
“Sarah, don’t show them,” Emma trembled.
“Show them the messages you sent him? The photos?” I took my phone and showed the screenshots I had gotten from Mike’s phone. Lingerie photos, provocative photos, messages saying how she always had a crush on him.
Aunt Sandra made a sound of disgust. “Emma, that’s so low.”
“And it worked,” I continued. “They started meeting in secret. She would pretend to have medical appointments to go to his apartment.”
“But you know what the most pathetic part is?” I laughed bitterly. “She only gave up on him when she saw I was coming out on top, even after the breakup. When she saw I got that incredible job, that I was happy alone, that I wasn’t destroyed like she expected.”
“Sarah, I…” Emma’s voice was a broken whisper.
“You what, Emma?” I exploded. “You’re sorry? You were confused? You were sick?” I stood in front of her, feeling years of anger finally finding its voice. “No! You simply can’t see me happy! You can’t see me having something you don’t have! You want to be me, Emma, but here’s the truth that’s going to hurt more than any lie you’ve ever told.”
The room was in absolute silence.
“You’ll never be me. You’ll never even come close. You can’t even be the gum under my shoe that I stepped on last week.”
Emma sobbed, but I wasn’t finished.
“Because you know what the difference between us is? When I want something, I work for it. I deserve what I have. You? You only know how to destroy, lie, manipulate. You’re an empty person, desperately trying to steal someone else’s life because you don’t have the courage to build your own.”
“Please, nothing!” I screamed. “You destroyed three of my relationships! Three! Jake, with the false messages. Tyler, when you lied that I was cheating on him. And now Mike. Three men I loved that you drove away from me because you can’t stand to see me happy!”
Dad stood up, his face distorted with anger. “Emma, is this true?”
Emma couldn’t even speak, just cried.
“And you know what Mike told me when I confronted him?” I continued mercilessly. “He said you told him I never really loved him, that I was just using him until I found someone better. That you knew the ‘real’ side of me.”
“That’s not true!” Emma finally screamed.
“Of course it’s not true!” I exploded back. “But you planted the seed of doubt in his head! You seduced him when he was vulnerable! You destroyed the most serious relationship I ever had because you can’t stand that someone loves me more than they love you!”
One by one, people started getting up. But before they could leave, I raised my voice again. “Wait! I want all of you to look at her closely.” Emma was hunched over in the chair, crying like a child. “Look closely at the girl you protected, that you spoiled, that you let torture me for years. Look at the monster you created.”
“Sarah—” Mom tried to interrupt.
“No!” I cut her off. “You’re going to hear this! You’re going to hear everything!” I turned to Emma again. “Do you want to know why you’ll never be me? Because I have something you’ll never have. I have character. I have dignity. When I make mistakes, I own up to them. When I want something, I earn it with honor. You? You’re a pathetic faker who needs to steal crumbs from my life to feel relevant. You’re so small, so insignificant, that the only way you find to exist is by destroying other people.”
Emma was shaking violently now.
“And now everyone knows. Everyone sees you for what you really are. A liar, a manipulator, an empty person who spends her whole life trying to be someone she’ll never be.” I turned to the family. “And you, you who always took her side, who always made me feel like the villain, I hope you’re proud. Because this is the daughter, the granddaughter, the niece you raised.”
“Sarah, we didn’t know,” Grandma was crying.
“Of course you didn’t know,” I replied coldly. “Because you never wanted to know. It was easier to believe I was the bad sister than to admit your little darling was a demon.”
I looked at Emma one last time. She seemed to have shrunk in the chair, small and pathetic. “Congratulations, Emma. You finally got what you always wanted. You’re the center of attention. Everyone is looking at you.” I made a dramatic pause. “Too bad it’s for all the wrong reasons.”
I grabbed my purse and walked toward the door. “Oh, and Emma? When you’re alone in your room tonight, crying about how your life fell apart, I want you to remember something.” I turned to look at her one last time. “You did this to yourself. Every lie, every manipulation, every moment of pure evil. You chose this. And now you’re going to live with the consequences.”
“Where are you going?” Mom asked, tears streaming down her face.
“Away from here,” I replied. “Away from this toxic family, this sick dynamic, and especially away from her.” I pointed at Emma without even looking in her direction. “I’m going where I should have gone years ago. I’m going to build a life where people like her can’t reach me.”
The door slammed behind me. But not before I heard Emma start screaming. Not from fake pain this time, but from real agony. The agony of finally having to face who she really was.
And for the first time in years, the sound of her pain didn’t make me feel guilty. It made me feel free.