They tore my dress to shreds while my mother stood by and watched. “If you didn’t steal it, why are you trembling?” she said flatly. I stood there, half-clothed and sobbing, knowing I’d done nothing wrong. Ten minutes later, they shoved me out into the rain with fifteen dollars in my pocket and no phone. What they didn’t realize was this—*that* night would be the beginning of their undoing.

My name is Hannah Brooks, and when this story began, I was 28 years old and living in a house where I was never truly welcome. After my biological father died, my mother remarried a man named Michael, and from that moment on, I became a reminder of a past she wanted erased. My half-sister Olivia was born two years later, and she became everything I was not—the favorite, the priority, the golden child.
I worked two jobs, one at a coffee shop at dawn and another at a grocery store in the evenings. Every paycheck went into the “family account.” Michael called it teamwork. I later learned it was exploitation. I cooked, cleaned, paid bills, and slept in a cramped attic room. Still, I told myself this was family.
Everything collapsed the night Olivia invited her wealthy boyfriend, Ethan Walker, to dinner. His family owned a massive corporation, and my mother and Michael treated his visit like a royal event. I cooked all day while Olivia wore a brand-new designer dress. I wore the only decent outfit I owned—a simple white cotton dress.
During dinner, Ethan excused himself to use the upstairs bathroom. Twenty minutes later, panic filled the room. His luxury watch—worth more than I made in a year—was missing. Before logic could intervene, every accusation landed on me. I had been upstairs. That was enough.
They dragged me to my attic room and tore it apart. When they found nothing, Michael accused me of hiding the watch on my body. My mother didn’t stop him. Olivia brought scissors. They cut my dress apart while I cried and begged. Ethan looked away.

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