My Sister Framed Me, Cried To My Parents, And Got Me Thrown Out Barefoot…

I pointed at her, my voice breaking.

“You hear that? You can’t even take her seriously! She’s lying to your faces and you’re still falling for it!”

Dad’s face turned hot and his hands curled again. Then out of nowhere he grabbed a glass from the table and threw it at me.

His aim was off but it blasted on the wall directly close to my head. Shards came down, cutting my arm and cheek.

Blood dripped down, but he only pointed at the door, his voice low and quivering with wrath.

“Get out before I call the cops and tell them you broke in! You want to keep making scenes, fine, you can do it from a jail cell!”

I steadied myself, my breath ragged, my chest thumping, my throat burning, but I refused to cry.

“You’ve made your choice. You picked her. You always pick her. One day you’re going to see her for what she is. And when that happens, don’t come looking for me.”

I remarked quietly.

The room fell silent except for Becca’s gentle chuckle.

“Wow,”

She said under her breath, shaking her head.

“Drama much.”

I retrieved my luggage from the floor and turned toward the door. Every step felt heavy as if I were dragging chains.

But I did not stop. At the threshold I swung around one more, staring at everyone.

My parents transfixed, Becca smirking.

“You think I’m the problem, fine! But when the truth blows up in your faces, remember this moment! Remember I warned you!”

Then I wrenched the door open, went into the darkness, and slammed it behind me. The cool air hit me in the face, combining with the sting of the shallow wounds down my arm.

I walked quickly, mouth hard, as if putting enough distance between myself and the home would allow me to breathe again. I got halfway down the block before I heard footsteps.

Quick and irregular, as if someone were jogging to catch up.

“Wait up, bro!”

I spun around, heart pounding. And there she was.

Becca was jogging behind me, calm as usual, her face shining in the dark light of the street lamp. She was smiling as if this were a game for her, as if dad hadn’t just tried to shatter me with a glass seconds before.

As Becca stepped onto the porch I thought I heard the screen door squeak behind her but I was too preoccupied with her smug smirk to notice. My stomach flipped.

“What do you want now?”

I demanded, my tone sharper than intended.

She slowed to a walk, slipping her hands into her hoodie pocket with a relaxed posture as if she were going for a late stroll.

“Relax, I just wanted to see how far you’d actually take this.”

I glared at her, my fists tightening tight as my arms ached from the cuts.

“Farther than you think. I’m done letting you run the show.”

Her grin grew, her teeth catching in the street lights’ radiance.

“You still don’t get it, do you? Nobody’s ever going to believe you! You can scream, cry, bleed all over the sidewalk. It won’t matter! To them, you’ll always be the screw-up. And I’ll always be the one they’re proud of!”

“Proud?”

I sneered, shaking my head.

“You destroyed me.”

“Destroyed you?”

She repeated, twisting her head as if I had uttered something amusing. Then her voice lowered, crueler.

“I didn’t destroy you. I just gave them proof of what they already believed. That was the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

My stomach turned, my chest tightened.

“Say it again,”

I said, moving closer.

She leaned in, her voice a whisper as if she wanted to enjoy every word.

“I framed you. I planted the money. And I do it again, watching you beg while I win. That’s the best part.”

The words sliced through me like a razor. I could almost hear the blood gushing through my ears and feel every drop dripping down my arm from where the glass shards had ripped into me.

Then another voice pierced the silence.

“Excuse me.”

We froze like statues. Mom stood on the edge of the porch step.

Her face was pale and her arms were crossed tightly across her chest. She must have followed Becca out without us noticing.

For once, her eyes were not filled with rage toward me. They were focused on Becca.

“What did you just say?”

Mom said, her tone stern as if she didn’t recognize the daughter in front of them. Becca stiffened, the smirk slipping straight off her face.

“Mom, I… it was nothing! He’s twisting it!”

“Don’t lie to me!”

Mom said, walking down onto the sidewalk. Her voice shook but her expression was dead serious.

“I heard you! You admitted it! You said you planted the money!”

For the first time in weeks I felt something crack open inside me: a glimmer of hope. My chest clenched and words tumbled out before I could control them.

“You heard her, Mom! You finally heard her!”

Becca’s mouth opened and then closed again. There are no excuses, phony tears, or quick spins on the story.

She was rattled. The screen door smashed against the frame and Dad stormed onto the porch, his words echoing around the yard.

“What’s going on?”

Mom turned to face him, her hands shaking.

“She admitted it, Martin! She just admitted she framed Kyle!”

Dad blinked, his face losing color. His pace slowed as he approached the bottom of the porch as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the response.

He looked at Becca, his jaw set.

“Is that true?”

Becca’s lip twitched. She looked between me, mom, and dad, panic flashing through her eyes.

Her fingers fidgeted within her hoodie pocket, clawing at the fabric. She opened her mouth as if to deny it again, but her expression twisted and the words came out like venom.

“So what if I did? I had to! You two always leaned on me to be the perfect one, the example! I couldn’t risk him screwing that up so I took care of it! I made sure he was the one you gave up on!”

Her voice cracked with the final words, but the harm had already been done. The hush that followed made the air feel dense.

Mom staggered back, her hand reaching for her mouth.

“Oh my god,”

She said. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her body shook as if she had just been sucker punched.

Dad’s jaw tightened and his hands curled again, this time at her rather than me. His face was flushed, his eyes steely as if he were looking at a stranger in his own home.

“You ruined your brother’s life,”

Mom murmured.

“You threw me out!”

I exclaimed, my throat hurting.

“You believed her over me! You tossed me in the street with nothing because she cried and pointed her finger! And now you hear the truth and it’s too late!”

Becca crossed her arms, attempting to hide the cracks in her voice with a false assurance.

“Don’t act like you’re some victim! You were always the mistake! I just made sure everyone else finally saw it!”

Her words hit me like another piece of glass shattered against my skin. I clenched my fist tighter, not to hit her but to keep myself from collapsing.

The silence extended. Mom sobbed openly.

Dad simply gazed, gutted, as if the ground had been pulled out from beneath him. And I—I stood there in the street, bleeding and exhausted, but ultimately vindicated.