Chapter 2 · The Bully Coming For Dinner

The next day, I took half a day off.

Sitting in my office at work, I took photos of everything from the metal box, one by one, and saved them to my phone's encrypted album.

I scanned every page of the diary.

I took pictures of both sides of the medical records.

I sorted the chat screenshots by date.

I logged back into my social media account; I hadn't touched it in ten years.

The group chat was still there.

Scrolling through the 2014 messages, I found a voice-to-text from Sophie.

[Emily was hilarious, got soaked, and didn't even dare make a sound. Like a freaking dog.]

Seventeen 'hahaha' followed right after.

I let the screen go dark and closed my eyes for a moment.

Then I opened WhatsApp and checked out Alex's Moments.

I needed to confirm something.

Alex had been posting on Moments like crazy since last March.

Before that, he'd only post three or five times a year, and it was always just game screenshots or ramen at midnight.

His first post last March was a photo of the entrance to my company, with the caption: [My sister's company. Isn't it awesome?]

In Mid-March, he shared a local media interview about me.

In April, he showed off the new phone I got him. [My sister bought me this top-of-the-line phone.]

In May, he posted a photo of the living room in my new place. [My sister bought a house on the Eastside—three bedrooms, two living areas. I finally have my own room.]

By December, nearly every month, there were a couple of posts about me.

I checked out Sophie's WhatsApp profile.

Her Moments were set to show only the last three days.

But Alex had shown me a screenshot from last May. He made a big deal about Sophie liking one of his posts for the first time.

May.

The same month he posted that photo of my new place.

I pulled up Alex's TikTok account.

He'd posted loads of stuff about me there, too.

One video was titled: [My sister's company annual party—crazy fancy]

It was posted on April 12th last year.

I scrolled through the comments for ages.

Third page.

An account called "SophieW" left a comment. [Your sis is so cool!]

It was posted on April 13th last year.

I tapped on the account.

Her profile picture was a cartoon cat.

Alex was the first person on her following list.

The platform didn't show when she started following him.

But the earliest interaction she had on Alex's page was on April 13th last year.

The day after Alex posted that video about my company's annual party.

My heart sank.

This wasn't just some random thing.

It was never a coincidence.

When I got home that night, Mom and Dad were watching TV.

I set the metal box down on the coffee table and popped the lid open.

"Dad, Mom, I need to talk to you about something," I said.

Dad took off his reading glasses and glanced at the box.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Sophie," I said. "She bullied me for four years straight in high school."

The living room went quiet for a few seconds.

I opened the diary and set it in front of them.

"This is a record of everything that happened to me from freshman to senior year. Every incident, with the date and details," I said.

Mom picked up the diary and flipped through a couple of pages, her brow furrowing.

I handed over the medical records.

"Anxiety, depression, insomnia. All from those years. You thought it was just school stress, but it was so much more than that," I said.

Dad picked up the medical records and looked them over for a while.

I pulled up my phone and showed them the group chat screenshots.

"She called me 'Trash Can,' got the whole class to freeze me out, and scrawled insults all over my uniform."

My voice was flat.

I'd practiced this.

I rehearsed in the company conference room, saying it out loud three times, until I could say it without a tremor in my voice.

The living room went quiet again.

Then Dad spoke up, "Emily, that was all in the past. You were just kids," Dad said.

I looked at him.

"Now your company's doing great, you're more successful than anyone. See? None of that held you back," he added.

Mom closed the diary and put it back in the box.

"Sophie's so mature now. She's got a solid job at the bank. She was just a kid before—people change when they grow up," Mom said.

"Mom, she gave me the nickname 'Trash Can,'" I said.

"That was just kids not knowing any better." Mom started.

"She had people hold me down in the bathroom and scrawl nasty words on my uniform," I cut in.

"Look how much Alex likes her. Can't you just—" Mom tried again.

"Can't I just what?" I replied.

"Can't you just let it go?" Mom said.

I pulled the diary out of the box and closed the lid.

I didn't say a word.

I went back to my room and locked the door behind me.

Mom's words kept echoing in my head.

Let it go?

I spent so many nights crying in that house, and not once did they ask me why.

And now they want me to be the bigger person and let it go.

Chapter 2

The next day, I took half a day off.

Sitting in my office at work, I took photos of everything from the metal box, one by one, and saved them to my phone's encrypted album.

I scanned every page of the diary.

I took pictures of both sides of the medical records.

I sorted the chat screenshots by date.

I logged back into my social media account; I hadn't touched it in ten years.

The group chat was still there.

Scrolling through the 2014 messages, I found a voice-to-text from Sophie.

[Emily was hilarious, got soaked, and didn't even dare make a sound. Like a freaking dog.]

Seventeen 'hahaha' followed right after.

I let the screen go dark and closed my eyes for a moment.

Then I opened WhatsApp and checked out Alex's Moments.

I needed to confirm something.

Alex had been posting on Moments like crazy since last March.

Before that, he'd only post three or five times a year, and it was always just game screenshots or ramen at midnight.

His first post last March was a photo of the entrance to my company, with the caption: [My sister's company. Isn't it awesome?]

In Mid-March, he shared a local media interview about me.

In April, he showed off the new phone I got him. [My sister bought me this top-of-the-line phone.]

In May, he posted a photo of the living room in my new place. [My sister bought a house on the Eastside—three bedrooms, two living areas. I finally have my own room.]

By December, nearly every month, there were a couple of posts about me.

I checked out Sophie's WhatsApp profile.

Her Moments were set to show only the last three days.

But Alex had shown me a screenshot from last May. He made a big deal about Sophie liking one of his posts for the first time.

May.

The same month he posted that photo of my new place.

I pulled up Alex's TikTok account.

He'd posted loads of stuff about me there, too.

One video was titled: [My sister's company annual party—crazy fancy]

It was posted on April 12th last year.

I scrolled through the comments for ages.

Third page.

An account called "SophieW" left a comment. [Your sis is so cool!]

It was posted on April 13th last year.

I tapped on the account.

Her profile picture was a cartoon cat.

Alex was the first person on her following list.

The platform didn't show when she started following him.

But the earliest interaction she had on Alex's page was on April 13th last year.

The day after Alex posted that video about my company's annual party.

My heart sank.

This wasn't just some random thing.

It was never a coincidence.

When I got home that night, Mom and Dad were watching TV.

I set the metal box down on the coffee table and popped the lid open.

"Dad, Mom, I need to talk to you about something," I said.

Dad took off his reading glasses and glanced at the box.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Sophie," I said. "She bullied me for four years straight in high school."

The living room went quiet for a few seconds.

I opened the diary and set it in front of them.

"This is a record of everything that happened to me from freshman to senior year. Every incident, with the date and details," I said.

Mom picked up the diary and flipped through a couple of pages, her brow furrowing.

I handed over the medical records.

"Anxiety, depression, insomnia. All from those years. You thought it was just school stress, but it was so much more than that," I said.

Dad picked up the medical records and looked them over for a while.

I pulled up my phone and showed them the group chat screenshots.

"She called me 'Trash Can,' got the whole class to freeze me out, and scrawled insults all over my uniform."

My voice was flat.

I'd practiced this.

I rehearsed in the company conference room, saying it out loud three times, until I could say it without a tremor in my voice.

The living room went quiet again.

Then Dad spoke up, "Emily, that was all in the past. You were just kids," Dad said.

I looked at him.

"Now your company's doing great, you're more successful than anyone. See? None of that held you back," he added.

Mom closed the diary and put it back in the box.

"Sophie's so mature now. She's got a solid job at the bank. She was just a kid before—people change when they grow up," Mom said.

"Mom, she gave me the nickname 'Trash Can,'" I said.

"That was just kids not knowing any better." Mom started.

"She had people hold me down in the bathroom and scrawl nasty words on my uniform," I cut in.

"Look how much Alex likes her. Can't you just—" Mom tried again.

"Can't I just what?" I replied.

"Can't you just let it go?" Mom said.

I pulled the diary out of the box and closed the lid.

I didn't say a word.

I went back to my room and locked the door behind me.

Mom's words kept echoing in my head.

Let it go?

I spent so many nights crying in that house, and not once did they ask me why.

And now they want me to be the bigger person and let it go.