My father didn’t say a word—just grabbed my wrist and tried to pull me away.

But Grandma grew more and more suspicious. She gripped my other hand and clutched the net bag tightly. “What are you doing? What’s all this for?”

Right then, my phone rang.

It was a call from the police:

“Ms. Lucia, please report to the station within twelve hours. Failure to do so may affect how your surrender is processed.”

Grandma froze. “Lucia? Surrender? What… what are they talking about? Did they call the wrong person?”

Austin let out an impatient sigh. “She is Lucia now. Alice and Lucia switched identities. It’s too complicated to explain. We’re in a rush—we have to go.”

But Grandma wasn’t letting go. She held my arm with surprising strength, refusing to release me.

Her eyes widened with dawning horror. She pieced it together, and tears flooded her face.

“Alice,” she cried, “have you lost your mind? You worked so hard for all these years—finally made it to the top of the college entrance exam list—and now you’re throwing it all away for that troublemaker?”

“Your whole life is ahead of you! Your future, your dreams—everything will be gone! How can you face your mother in heaven?”

“Don’t you remember what she said before she passed? She told you to be someone your name could be proud of!”

I couldn’t hold back anymore. My tears fell.

But still, I forced a trembling smile. “Grandma… even without college, I can still make something of myself.”

“Please don’t stop me. If I’m late, they won’t count it as a voluntary surrender. The sentence will be even longer.”

Gritting my teeth, I pried her hands off mine.

Then I turned and walked away.

“Alice!” Grandma cried. She tried to chase after me, but Austin blocked her.

Her face twisted in anguish. And then she screamed, loud enough to shake the stairwell:

“If you dare walk out that door—I’ll die right here!”

I stopped.

My body trembled as I turned around.

Grandma was on the ground now, sobbing, broken. “Why? Why is this happening?”

I stared at her, my heart splintering, then said cruelly—but clearly—

“Grandma, you promised my mother you’d take care of me.”

“If you die, and I come out of prison with no one left, who will keep that promise?”

“So please… live well. If you don’t, how could you ever face her either?”

Grandma collapsed into silence, muttering as if her world had just ended.

My father and Austin took the chance to lift me by the arms, dragging me downstairs. I didn’t resist.

They stuffed me into the backseat of the car.

I closed my eyes. But Grandma’s cries echoed in my mind like a curse.

Grandma, I’m sorry.

We arrived at the police station shortly after.

But my father didn’t let me out of the car.

Austin reached into a bag and pulled out a small glass vial and some cotton swabs.

“You and Lucia look almost identical,” he said, “but your fingerprints are different. That’s a problem.”

“Just endure it,” he added gently. “I’ll handle the rest.”

I looked at the bottle—and froze.

Sulfuric acid.

Before I could react, Austin dipped a swab and pressed it to my fingertip.

I screamed.

The searing pain shot through my body like lightning. My hand jerked reflexively, but my father pinned me down.

“Don’t move,” Austin muttered, holding my wrist firmly. “I know it hurts. But we’re almost done.”

My ten fingers were scorched one after the other, each one a fresh wave of agony. My body convulsed. My throat went hoarse from screaming. Sweat soaked my clothes.

When it was over, I slumped in the seat, barely conscious.

My father handed me a bottle of water. I took a sip, just enough to wet my lips.

Then they dragged me out of the car and led me into the police station.

When it came time to fill out the paperwork, my hands shook so badly I could barely hold the pen.

Eventually, officers from the detention center came to collect me. I wasn’t even allowed to go to trial yet—I had to be held in custody first.

My father sighed and turned to the officer.

“Can you give us a few minutes? Just to say goodbye?”

The officer looked at me, then back at him, and finally nodded.

“You’ve got ten. Make it quick.”

He led us to a small, plain reception room.

I sat down on the cold chair, my voice barely audible.

“What else is there to say? Haven’t you said enough already?”

Austin was on the phone, speaking quietly but urgently.

“Don’t worry. We’re already here. She’s waiting outside.”

I frowned. “Who’s waiting?”

The door creaked open.

Lucia walked in, her steps light, her smile dazzling.

“Sister,” she said sweetly, “thank you for giving me the chance to go to college.”

My father straightened up, voice solemn.

“Lucia came all this way to thank you in person.”

I nodded numbly.

Lucia turned to Austin, pouting.

“You made me get a tattoo on my fingertip just to blur my prints. Do you know how much that hurt?”

I glanced down at my own hands—bandaged, blistered, raw from the sulfuric acid. I said nothing. I just smiled, faintly and bitterly.

Then Lucia stretched her arms toward Austin.

“I need a hug. I want comfort.”

Without hesitation, she stepped into his embrace.

Austin looked over at me, eyes flickering with guilt he didn’t bother to hide well.

“Alice… you know Lucia and I have to keep up appearances now. People know I’ve always been with you. If I act distant, they’ll get suspicious.”

He tightened his hold on Lucia.

“We’ll break up eventually. Once everything settles down.”

I stared at them in silence, then stood up.

“You’re both excellent actors,” I said quietly.

I walked to the door myself. The officers were waiting. I didn’t look back.

That night, I curled up on the thin prison mattress, my body aching, my fingers throbbing.

But what hurt more than the burns was my grandmother’s sobbing, echoing in my mind.

And my mother’s final words.

She had told me to fight for my life. That no matter what happened, I must live with dignity, strive for a future. That I must never give up.

So I didn’t.

I worked harder than anyone. I studied through the pain, the hunger, the silence. I wanted to make her proud in heaven. I wanted to become someone whose name meant something.

But now, it was all gone.

All those years of effort, all my dreams, all my mother’s hopes—destroyed in a single decision.

My father’s coldness. Austin’s betrayal. They crushed me like stones pressing into my chest.

I wept.

But no one cared. No one heard me.

“Mom,” I whispered into the darkness, “I’m sorry… I couldn’t protect what you left behind.”

The next morning, we were called out to the common area. It was time to watch the news. Everyone sat on small stools, faces dull, eyes fixed on the TV.

And then—I saw her.

Lucia.

She wore a crisp uniform blouse and a red ribbon pinned proudly to her chest. The camera zoomed in on her as she smiled graciously under the spotlight.

“I owe this achievement to my mother’s memory,” she told the reporter. “She was a teacher. She died protecting her students from a violent man. Her courage inspires me every day.”

She was telling my story. My mother’s story.

That was the reason I studied every night until dawn. That was why I never gave up.

My breath caught. I lowered my head, but the tears still fell.

The screen cut to my father.

“Mr. Brock,” the reporter asked, “we heard you have a niece who lost her parents and was raised by you. Recently, she was arrested for theft. Do you have any comment?”

My father’s face turned hard.

“She’s a disgrace to our family. I don’t want to talk about her. I just hope her bad reputation doesn’t interfere with my daughter’s civil service exam.”

The final shot zoomed in on Austin and Lucia.

“Rumor has it you were an academic couple. Now that you're entering college together, will your relationship be affected?”

Austin smiled at the camera. Lucia turned to him with a giggle.

And then, in front of the nation, they kissed.

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.”