She Took My Identity, My Future, and My Name
Chapter 4
Applause, whistles, and warm congratulations filled the air.
I stood still, staring at the screen, tears silently rolling down my face. I didn’t even notice when they had started to fall.
The trial came quickly.
I didn’t defend myself. I admitted to everything without protest.
The judge announced the verdict: ten years in prison.
The charge? Theft involving a large sum of money and organized crime.
I saw it clearly—my father, Austin, and Lucia sitting in the gallery, visibly relieved. As if a heavy burden had finally been lifted from their shoulders.
After the sentencing, I was led away to begin my prison term.
Just before I got on the transport van, a reporter shoved a microphone into my face.
“Your cousin is the top scorer in the national college entrance exam, and yet here you are—about to serve a decade in prison. Do you have anything to say to the public?”
I looked at the camera and smiled faintly.
“Prison can be educational too. Who’s to say it’s worse than college?”
The reporter laughed, clearly mocking me.
The bystanders followed suit.
“She’s just bitter,” someone muttered.
“No wonder she ended up in jail—look at that twisted logic.”
“Classic case of poor upbringing. No manners, no morals.”
Their laughter felt like knives.
And then, I heard a voice I knew too well—trembling, desperate, and filled with grief.
“You’ve made a mistake! Please, you’ve made a terrible mistake!”
I turned toward the sound.
Grandma.
She stumbled toward me, drenched in sweat, crying as she pushed through the crowd.
“She’s not Lucia,” she shouted to anyone who would listen. “She’s my granddaughter, Alice! She was framed! She’s the real top scorer!”
She gripped my arm with all the strength she had left and almost dropped to her knees.
“Alice, please—don’t humiliate yourself like this. Tell them the truth. Don’t destroy yourself for these people.”
I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek and forced myself to stay in character. I mimicked the tone of a street punk.
“Lady, I don’t know who you are. You’ve got the wrong person.”
Her face crumpled, and she sobbed even harder.
Suddenly, she seemed to realize something and grabbed me again.
“Is someone threatening you? Did your father hit you? Tell me now—look, the police are here. They’ll protect you!”
I shook my head, deadpan.
“You really got the wrong person. Your granddaughter’s over there.”
Just then, Austin and my father rushed over.
Without hesitation, they each grabbed one of Grandma’s arms and began dragging her away.
“She has Alzheimer’s,” Austin explained to the cameras with a forced laugh. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying. Sorry, sorry, excuse us.”
They shoved her into the back of a car and drove off before anyone could question it.
I wiped away my tears.
Then I lowered my head, let the officers lock the handcuffs around my wrists, and stepped into the van.
After I entered prison, my father never visited me again. Not once.
Austin disappeared without a trace.
The only one who tried to see me was my grandmother. But I refused.
She didn’t need to see me like this.
She was old. Her health was poor. Seeing me would only break her further.
Better for her to rest, to wait.
When I got out—when all of this was over—I would take care of her properly.
One morning, about a month later, a guard came to my cell.
“Visitor for you,” she said.
I panicked.
“Is it an old woman?” I asked. “Gray hair? A cane?”
The guard shook her head. “No. Not her.”
Only then did I follow her to the visitation room.
When I saw who it was, I froze.
Lucia.
She sat there in designer clothes, radiant and smug.
“What’s the point of studying so hard?” she said with a sneer. “Doesn’t seem to have helped you much.”
I stayed silent.
She leaned closer to the glass. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Maybe you still don’t know. You and I aren’t just cousins.”
“We’re sisters. Half-sisters.”
I blinked.
She smiled wider.
“Your dad is my dad. That whole cousin story? Just something they told people to make it easier to control you.”
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