Part 1Hidden Bully Truth

The scholarship student my parents sponsored led the charge in bullying me. She locked me in a bathroom stall, dumped freezing dirty water over my head, and took degrading photos of me stripped down to my underwear.

When I knelt crying on the floor, clutching my medical report and an audio recording, begging my parents to call the police, they confiscated my phone. They did it for the sake of their laughable public image.

"Audrey, Riley comes from a dirt-poor family. This is just kids messing around. If we involve the cops, the press will say the District Attorney is throwing his weight around, destroying a disadvantaged kid's future."

"You are our daughter. You need to look at the bigger picture. To avoid any conflict of interest, we are settling this privately. You are going to sign a formal statement of forgiveness."

I stared at that piece of paper, filled with words about grace and maturity, in absolute disbelief.

"She ruined me, and you're afraid of ruining her?"

"Is she your real daughter?"

Later, I saw a post on Riley's Instagram. The picture showed my parents treating her to a massive seafood feast I had been begging to go to for months. The caption read:

"My godparents say some entitled brats just need to be put in their place."

In that exact moment, my heart turned to ash.

* * *

"Smile for the camera, Audrey! Aren't your parents big-shot lawyers?"

"Call them! Let's see if the almighty DA saves his precious daughter, or if he protects his favorite charity case."

The stall door was kicked open. A bucket of ice water, reeking of cigarette ash and bleach, washed over my head.

I curled up next to the toilet. My clothes clung to my shivering skin.

Riley shoved her phone right into my face. The camera flash blinded me, burning into my retinas.

I bit down on my lip so hard that the metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth.

That night, I knelt on the cold marble floor of our living room. I held my medical report in one hand and a voice recorder in the other.

"Dad, Mom, I need to file a police report. Riley took photos of me in my underwear..."

"Shut your mouth."

Victoria sat perfectly upright in her tailored designer suit. She held a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea, not even bothering to look up.

"Go change your clothes. You smell like a dumpster. Look at the state of you."

I jerked my head up. The hard floor was grinding into my kneecaps, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the shock.

"Mom, this is proof! She held my head near the bowl! She's threatening to post the pictures online..."

My dad sat in the center of the plush leather sofa, rolling an unlit cigar between his fingers.

He finally looked at me. His eyes were like dead stones.

"Audrey. Hand me the phone."

My hands shook violently as I offered it to him.

Without missing a beat, he powered it down, popped the SIM card out, and tossed it right into the heavy crystal ashtray on the coffee table.

"As of today, your phone is confiscated. You are grounded. Stay in your room and reflect on your behavior."

I shot to my feet.

"Are you insane? I am the victim! Dad, just listen to the tape! Listen to what she said to me..."

"I said, shut your mouth!"

Richard slammed his fist onto the coffee table. The teacups rattled.

He stood up, towering over me.

"Call the cops? Do you have any idea what that means?"

"How do you think the media will spin it? The arrogant daughter of the District Attorney bullies a poor scholarship girl and ruins her future."

"Riley's family has nothing. Her father is paralyzed. She is the city's poster child for overcoming adversity."

"Do you want to throw away everything we've built just because your feelings got hurt?"

My jaw dropped. My throat felt like sandpaper. No words would come out.

My feelings got hurt? I was stripped, photographed, and humiliated. And to him, it was just a minor inconvenience.

My mother set her tea down and walked over.

"Audrey, be reasonable. We are public figures. Thousands of eyes are watching our every move."

"Riley has had a hard life. Maybe she acted a bit aggressively, but she's just crying out for attention."

"You are older. You need to show some grace. To keep our hands clean, this gets buried. Tonight."

She pulled a crisp sheet of paper from her leather briefcase and slid it onto the table.

Statement of Forgiveness.

Party A: Audrey. Party B: Riley.

Terms: An acknowledgment of roughhousing between classmates. I agree to drop the matter and waive all rights to pursue legal action.

Dad handed me his Montblanc fountain pen.

"Sign it. Don't make us force your hand."

I stared at the pen. I had saved up for months to buy it for him when he got promoted to Chief DA.

"And if I don't?"

Dad let out a short, cold laugh.

"If you don't? I will pull you out of school and ship you off to your grandfather's cabin upstate."

"As long as I run this district, no precinct will touch your case. No one will cross me."

These were my parents.

To protect their pristine political feathers, to maintain their fake philanthropy, they were willing to feed their own flesh and blood to the wolves.

My fingers trembled as I took the pen.

The nib scratched harshly against the paper. I signed my name.

Mom smiled, clearly satisfied. She folded the paper neatly.

"That's my girl. I knew you'd understand. You must be starving. Let me go fix dinner."

"Don't bother."

I pushed myself off the floor. My legs were numb.

Back in my room, I dug out an old backup iPad from the bottom of a drawer.

Half an hour later, an Instagram notification popped up.

It was from Riley.

A photo carousel.

Massive Alaskan king crab legs. Maine lobster tails. Two hands clinking champagne glasses.

One hand wore my mother's signature diamond ring. The other wore my father's Rolex.

Location tag: The Oceanaire Room.

Caption: "My godparents treating me to calm my nerves. Some entitled brats just need to be put in their place. Thank you Mom and Dad! Love you!"

I stared at the screen. My stomach did a violent flip.

Mom didn't go to the kitchen to fix dinner. She had a reservation booked the entire time. They were throwing a victory dinner for my abuser.

I bolted to my bathroom and threw up until my ribs ached.

The girl in the mirror was pale as a ghost, a bruise already blooming on her jawline.

And on the screen, the three of them looked like a perfect, happy family.

If they loved their little charity case so much.

Then I guess they didn't need a real daughter anymore.