I Bought My Own Tombstone

My parents’ adopted daughter—their perfect, darling girl—drove drunk and killed a man.

She cried, shaking, telling everyone how terrified she was.

My brother, without a single second of hesitation, pushed me out to take the fall.

My fiancé, a high-profile defense attorney, even committed perjury to seal my fate, pointing his finger at me in open court.

Three years of living hell followed. In that prison, I was tormented daily. They broke me, physically and mentally, even shattering my right hand. The constant, agonizing abuse eventually manifested as terminal stomach cancer.