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“What is it going to take to make this stop?” I ask, as images of Ben, Zoe, Brad, and Hannah flood my beleaguered brain.

“I want what’s mine,” says Cassie. “Dad had no right to leave it all to you.”

“Shouldn’t you be thankful for what he did for you when he was alive, rather than resent what he didn’t do in death?”

“Not when you’re just as guilty as me,” she spits.

“ I didn’t ask him to lie for me,” I yell, unable to hold my vitriol back any longer. “He was a good man, but you put him in an impossible position. He lied under oath that he’d seen Ben go into Michael’s room, to save your skin. How do you think that made him feel? Having knowingly sent an innocent man to jail?”

“What about how I saved your skin? What thanks do I get for not telling the police that you were the one who supplied the heroin that killed him?”

“Did Dad know that?” I can’t help but cry. “Did he know that you got the drugs from me?”

Cassie scoffs, her tone telling. “He knew everything . He found out what Michael had done to me by reading my diary. He developed the photos on my camera and saw what I’d done to him.” I gasp at the memory. “He told me that he would protect me, but I had to be completely honest and tell him exactly what had happened.”

“So, you told him you’d taken the drugs from my bag without permission?”

I hold my breath as I remember my father’s cryptic final words in his letter. “ You can’t take something that was never there. No matter how many lies you have to tell yourself to pretend that you did. ”

“He held you just as responsible as me,” she says, sounding as if she’s almost enjoying my distress. “Even more so because you were the adult—the big sister who was supposed to have my back.”

“ Did you tell him that you took the drugs from my bag without permission? ” I ask again through gritted teeth, desperate to be told in words of one syllable whether my father meant what I think he meant.

“Yes,” she says.

A rush of air escapes from my chest and my knees threaten to buckle beneath me. “It wasn’t mine,” I say, almost to myself. “It was never mine—and you knew it.”

“Wh-what?” Cassie falters, as if the reality of what happened twenty-five years ago is as alien to her as it is to me.

“You couldn’t have taken the heroin from me,” I mutter numbly.

“What are you talking about?” snaps Cassie. “Of course I did. How else do you think I got it?”

“Fuck,” I gasp, as the enormity of what she’s done— of how evil she is —bears down on me. I grab hold of a wooden joist to stop my body from falling, as every nerve and muscle folds in on itself, paralyzed from the deceit. “Dad must have found it. He found it in my bag and took it.”

Cassie laughs sardonically. “Are you so deranged that you’re going to blame our dead father now?”

“How could you let me believe that it was my fault?” I rasp. “How could you have allowed me to spend the best part of my life blaming myself for something I played no part in?”

Cassie tsks derisorily.

I shake my head, as all the pieces fall into place. “Oh my god, I handed it to you on a plate, didn’t I?” I rake a clawed hand through my hair as I remember the conversation we had in the hours after Michael’s death. I’d spoon-fed her the narrative that they were my drugs—that she’d taken them without permission—and she’d run with it. Never once faltering. Never once stopping to consider the consequences. Never once showing compassion by putting me out of my misery.

“This was all you,” I choke. “It was only ever you.”

There’s a sudden rush as she launches herself at me, grappling for any part that she can sink her nails into. I crash to the floor and feel a tightening around my neck as her weight pins me down. I kick with all my strength while my hands flail, attempting to wrench her fingers away from my air supply.

We thrash around and I push my foot against an attic beam, using the traction to twist myself away from her. But she’s too quick and counteracts the bid by slamming my shoulder down into the floor, her hands around my neck as she squeezes the life out of me once more.

I manage to suck in a desperate mouthful of air, and it pulls me back from the edge of consciousness, fueling my need to fight back. But she’s straddled over me, her features contorted as her thumbs slowly shut down my lifeline. I look at her, breathless, eyes bulging and, as I feel myself slipping away, all I can see is Hannah’s innocent face, questioning whether I deserved it.