To Make Someone Vanish, You Must First Drive Them Crazy!

My little sister has been bullying me, both openly and covertly.

My parents are fully aware of what she's doing, but they turn a blind eye.

Their indulgence has only made her behavior worse, and she's become even more vicious.

And yet, this works perfectly in my favor. To bring someone down, you first need to push them to the edge of madness!

...

In reality, the people I call "Mom" and "Dad" aren’t my biological parents. They’re Uncle John and Aunt Annie. My little sister isn’t actually my sister; she’s my cousin.

I’m an orphan.

When I was fourteen, a car accident took my real parents from me. Most people probably think these things only happen in the news or on TV.

But this tragedy happened in my own life, on my birthday, no less.

My parents had been out of town on a business trip, and they made the long drive home just to celebrate my birthday with me.

On the way back, a large truck carrying coal collided with a small car, and the truck overturned.

My parents’ car happened to be passing by when the truck tipped over, and the pile of coal crashed down on top of their car, crushing it instantly.

My father died on the spot, and my mother was severely injured and rushed to the hospital. By the time I arrived, she was barely holding on to life.

All our relatives had passed away long ago, and the only close family I had were my paternal Aunt Madge and Uncle John. If no one was willing to take me in, I’d have to go to an orphanage.

Aunt Madge, who was divorced and raising her own child, was too busy to take me in.

Before she died, my mother entrusted my guardianship to Uncle John. He held my hand and promised he would take better care of me than he did of his own daughter.

My mother, eyes filled with tears, took her final breath right then.

From that moment on, my birthday became the anniversary of my parents’ death.

I thought that was the worst thing I’d ever go through, but it turned out to be just the beginning of something much worse.

After we held a simple funeral for my parents, Uncle John presented the guardianship agreement my mother had signed in her final moments and said, “Susan, from now on, you’ll stay with me. Aunt Annie and I will always protect you and take care of you.”

To make it feel more familiar, they insisted I start calling them “Mom” and “Dad” in front of others.

Just three days after my parents’ death, Uncle John’s family moved into our home under the pretense of helping me adjust.

Our house was a small two-bedroom apartment—nothing luxurious, but located in the city center in a prestigious school district, which made it valuable.

As Aunt Annie stepped inside, she looked around the house with greed in her eyes. "I never noticed how well this place is kept. It’s really nice. With the housing market doing so well, this could sell for a pretty penny."

Sitting on the sofa, Uncle John immediately pulled up an app to check property prices in our neighborhood. "Susan, why don’t you sell the house? I’ll pitch in some money, and we can buy a bigger one. What do you think?"

Then Aunt Annie’s glittering eyes turned toward me.

At that moment, I froze. My body trembled. I never imagined they would have such plans for adopting me!

And just a day after burying my parents, they were already thinking about this!

My nails dug into my palms, and after a long pause, my eyes began to water. I couldn’t hold back my tears. "Uncle John, I miss my mom and dad. This house is all they left me. I don’t want to leave it."

Seeing me crying, burying my face in my hands, Uncle John softened a bit. He realized this couldn’t be rushed. “Don’t worry, take your time to think it over,” he said.

Aunt Annie, who was standing nearby, snorted and muttered under her breath, “What are you crying for? You look like a messenger of death.”

I sniffled, wiped my tears with my sleeve, and lowered my head, hiding the anger in my eyes.

At that age, I had no way to fight back. Pretending to be weak was the only weapon I had left.

I watched as Uncle John and Aunt Annie moved into my parents' master bedroom, while Kristen, who was just a few months younger than me, took over my room.

That night, when Uncle John went out, Aunt Annie called me into the master bedroom. She was sitting on my mother’s bed, wearing my mother’s silk nightgown, casually applying her skincare products.

"Susan, you have to understand Kristen. She needs space for her piano, so there’s no room for your bed. From now on, you’ll sleep on the couch in the living room. You’re still small, so the couch should be fine for you."

That silk nightgown had been a birthday gift from my father to my mother—it was her favorite.

The skincare products were high-end imports that Aunt Annie had never been able to afford before.