Stripes. Stars. Black. Low-cut distressed jeans. Straight hair accented by a side-swept bang conveniently covering her eyes. The uniform of adolescence.

Honestly, I don’t understand it and it wasn’t that long ago that I was a teenager myself. Mom treats Morgan like the problem child that she’s become and often says she can’t be bothered with teenage drama. Morgan can’t help it, though. Things like who likes whom, who hates whom, who is cheating on whom, and she wore what?! matter to teenagers. I think we should count ourselves lucky that Morgan tells us anything when she gets home from school, no matter how trivial.

This morning we actually had breakfast together like a TV family. Mom set out a plate stacked with pancakes, a glass pitcher of orange juice, berries, powdered sugar, syrup, and sausage. It felt too good to be true and it turns out it was.

Mom was humming and buzzing around the kitchen when Morgan and I shuffled in, bleary-eyed with sleep. She looked at us so sweetly—like she did when we were small, running around in Disney Princess nightgowns with disheveled hair—and practically sang, “Good morning, my darlings! Momma made you some breakfast!”

Morgan looked at me suspiciously, questioning if I was in on the act with her eyes. I shrugged and sat down, saying, “Looks good. Thanks, Mom.”

Morgan followed suit, as she usually does. She mumbled, “Yeah, thanks, Mom.”

Mom came around and kissed both of our faces before piling our plates high with sugary sweet delight.

Morgan scrunched up her nose. “Mom, I’m gluten-free. Remember?”

Mom sighed and I could feel this perfect moment dissolving. She said, “First of all, no you’re not. And secondly, I used the special gluten-free flour. Now eat, baby.”

“Oh, okay,” Morgan said.

She kissed her again and served us our breakfast sausage.

Morgan put her hand over her plate and said, “None for me, thanks.”

Mom didn’t like that. She placed one hand on her hip, still holding the tongs and she lifted the plate of sausage high in the air, as if the elevation could render it meatless. She said, “Why the hell not?”

“Mom, I told you last night. I’m a vegetarian now.”

“That’s nonsense. This sausage is free-range. It is very special today. It is the best of the best. I’m not going to waste it just because you’re going through a phase.”

“Mom—“ I tried to cut in. I tried to salvage the morning. I just wanted time with them.

“Uh, pip-pip, Meagan,” she said to me, locking her lips with an invisible key. I forgot how much I hated that when I was away at school.

“Mom, it’s for ethical and health reasons that I’ve chosen to give up meat. Please respect my decision,” Morgan explained, sounding older than her mere fifteen years.

“Respect my ass, missy. As long as you live in my house, you’ll eat what I cook.”

“Fine.” Morgan knew there was no use arguing.

Mom went to sit in her spot and something about this particular morning made it feel too tense to eat. We sat, watching her, waiting for her to make the first move. She waved her hands at us and said, “Well, go on then, eat up!”

We did. It was delicious, and Morgan even had seconds of the sausage, but something tasted a little off. I couldn’t figure out what it was, but I assumed it was just the gluten-free flour. Mom wasn’t eating, though.

“Mom, I was thinking it might be nice to do something together today, before I go back to school,” I said. I just needed to break the silence.

“Yeah!” Morgan lit up, “I’d like that! I actually have to get some spring/summer clothes because mine from last year don’t fit anymore. Maybe we could go shopping?”

Mom clasped her hands under her chin and shook her head, “No, babies. I’ve got wedding plans with Steve today.”

Steve. Ever since Mom started seeing that guy, everything’s changed. On the outside, it appears that our lives have drastically improved. We live in a nicer house, we wear nicer clothes, I go to a nicer school, and Mom drives a nicer car to do things like get her hair done every three days. But it doesn’t feel nicer. It feels like Morgan and I are the last remnants of her former life that she desperately wants to shed. I know how bad that sounds.

Morgan looked hurt, but tried to hide it. I said, “Oh, maybe after?”

“Tut-tut, girls. Momma is very busy. Now, please, eat before it gets cold.”

“Mom, why aren’t you eating?” asked Morgan.

But I saw how Mom’s eyes narrowed and she looked like she was going to go in for the kill. I said, “Hey, Morg, I’ll take you shopping. It’ll be fun. Sister day.”

“Good, good,” said Mom as she got up and started clearing the table, “you two should get a move on before the mall gets too busy!”

So that’s what we did. We left home at 11:23am and got to the mall at 11:55am. By 12:30, I was feeling ill, but I put on a happy face for Morgan. I couldn’t imagine how hard it was to live in that house without me.

My sister. I loved her so much. She was holding up yet another black and white striped t-shirt to herself in the mirror of a department store when it happened. She got dizzy. Fell. Started coughing up blood. Choked on it. Died.

I tried to help her. I tried, but I felt the blood trying to make its way out of me. it was boiling my insides.

I was screaming when the paramedics came at 1:15pm. I kept screaming. All I could see was Morgan and her blood. They sedated me. They brought me to the hospital. They pumped my stomach.

They found traces of arsenic.

They don’t believe that it could’ve been Mom—that she could’ve injected it into the sausage—that she could’ve been giving it to Morgan in small doses while I was away.

They won’t listen. My mother is hysterical.

She’s saying it was me.