The memory fast-forwarded to our arrival at the hospital. Don and Fronie rushed in. Fronie immediately enveloped Karsyn in a hug. Don, after a cursory glance at my bandaged arm, turned his full attention to Karsyn, his voice dripping with sympathy for the orphaned child.

Then, a new scene. Don, a few days later, in hushed conversation with a lawyer. He was beaming, a wide, almost manic grin on his face. "Of course, we'll take her in!" he announced. "She's family, after all!"

But the image shifted again, and the family dynamic twisted. Karsyn was instantly elevated. I was moved to a smaller, colder room in the attic. My new clothes were hand-me-downs.

One night, years later, I overheard them. "Are you sure this is all safe?" Fronie whispered. "All that money... are we really in control?"

"Relax, Fronie," Don replied, a greedy edge to his voice. "It's all set up. Karsyn's trust fund. Millions. We're her guardians. We just have to make sure she's happy until she's eighteen, and then..."

"But what about Elodie?" Fronie asked.

Don scoffed. "Elodie? She's the goose that lays the golden eggs, Fronie. A means to an end. Keep Karsyn happy, keep Karsyn on our side, and we'll be set for life. Elodie's just... collateral damage."

I didn't fully understand the phrase "golden goose" then, but the bitter taste of it clung to me. From that day on, I was no longer their daughter. I was a problem.

The memory of my parents' whispered conversation sent a fresh wave of nausea through me. My academic achievements were now completely ignored.

The screen flickered. a new scene unfolded, years later. I was a teenager, my hands rough, my body aching. The clatter and roar of a factory floor filled the air. My parents had pulled me out of my advanced placement classes, claiming they couldn't afford the "extra burden" of my education.

"Karsyn needs her tuition paid," Fronie had declared. "You need to contribute, Elodie. It's your duty."

I started saving every spare penny, a secret cache hidden beneath a loose floorboard. Then, I got sick. A bout of pneumonia forced me to miss work. The money I usually sent home was late.

The memory shifted, violently. My parents burst into the factory. Don grabbed my arm. "Where's the money, you ungrateful wretch?!"

My hidden stash slipped from my pocket. Don's eyes widened with a terrifying greed. "You've been hoarding money from us, you little thief?!"

He began to hit me, his open palm cracking against my cheek again and again. Fronie stomped on a pile of my precious books, tearing the pages. "Filling your head with nonsense instead of focusing on your family!"

"No! Please!" I begged.

Don grabbed a handful of paper, my precious sketches, and tore them into confetti. "This is what you get for being selfish!"

I was utterly destitute. I found a new job at a construction site. One day, carrying a heavy load of bricks, my legs gave out. My supervisor, Gus, rushed over. He saw the bruises, the gauntness. "I can't have you working like this. Go home. Take care of yourself." He pressed a crumpled wad of bills into my hand.

With the money, a small, reckless thought sparked. I hadn't had a proper meal in months. I walked into a small diner and ordered a huge burger and a milkshake.

I was halfway through my milkshake when the world came crashing down. In walked Don, Fronie, and Karsyn. They were dressed impeccably, a stark contrast to my bruised, dirty clothes.

Don's eyes landed on me. "Elodie! What in God's name are you doing?!"

"You're spending our money on yourself?!" Don roared, yanking me out of the booth. He slapped me across the face, hard.

Karsyn watched in cold silence, her eyes burning with contempt. "She's disgusting," Karsyn murmured. "Look at her, father. Like an animal."

Don grabbed my hair. Fronie snatched up the remaining money. They dragged me out and left me there, discarded and bleeding, on the sidewalk. Don and Fronie, with Karsyn between them, walked away, a picture of a loving, wholesome family.

The memory ended abruptly. Don Lowe suddenly stood in the studio, pointing a trembling finger at me. "She's lying! It's all fabricated!"

I met his gaze, my own eyes cold. "Am I, Don? Or are you just afraid of what else the truth will reveal?"