The Verdict on My Husband the Judge: GUILTY novel Chapter 29

Chapter 6

Blair had always been like this.

I remember being five years old, sitting on Dad’s lap. Blair would climb up too, then immediately start kicking me. Punching my arm. Shoving me off onto the floor.

And like an idiot, I’d climb right back up.

She’d knock me down again. Every single time.

My parents just sat there watching. Actually smiling.

I’d cry, reaching for Dad, begging him to make her stop.

He never did.

“This is how the world works,” he’d say. “Family’s just society in miniature. You learn to compete now, you’ll be ready for real life.”

Mom would lean in, voice gentle like she was teaching me something important.

“Stella, she’s your sister. Your own blood. If you can’t figure out how to deal with her, how will you handle anyone

else?

“Out there in the real world, when money’s involved, when careers are on the line–nobody’s going to play nice.”

Yeah, Blair was my sister.

But she’d always seen me as the enemy.

She hated that I even existed to share things with her.

The night we fought over Dad’s lap, I heard her talking in he sleep through the wall:

“No… Stella can’t have it… It’s mine…”

Real competition is supposed to be fair. Equal footing. Actual rules everyone follows,

Not one person beating the other into the dirt for a decade while adults cheer it on.

I’d been crushed for so long. Hurt for so long.

I was done playing by rules that only protected her.

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The Verdict on My Husband the Judge: GUILTY

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Chapter 6

But the second I stopped giving in, I became the problem.

“Ungrateful,” Mom started calling me. “Selfish. Doesn’t know how to be a good sister.”

It spread through the family fast. Aunts, uncles, cousins–they all looked at me like I’d done something unforgivable.

Even the relatives who used to stick up for me turned their backs.

Because Mom had finally “fixed” things, right? Blair couldn hit me anymore.

And I still wasn’t happy. Still stirring up drama.

By then I was in middle school. Twelve going on thirteen. My friends had all seen enough broken homes to know how this worked.

Sophie cornered me by my locker one day after I came in with fingerprint bruises on my wrist.

“Your mom’s just scared of Blair,” she said bluntly. “Blair can actually hurt her now. You can’t. So you’re the one she

takes it out on.”

“She’s trying to break you down. If you cave, she gets to go back to letting Blair run wild without looking like a bad

parent.”

“And she doesn’t love you. Not really. If she did, she wouldn be telling everyone you’re the problem.”

I didn’t want to believe it.

But it made perfect sense.

After that, I fought Mom on everything. Every single thing she asked me to do.

And here’s what killed me: Blair also fought her constantly. Screamed in her face daily.

But Mom only ever screamed at me.

We stopped pretending after a while. There was no mother daughter relationship left.

Just two people who resented each other’s existence.

I stopped calling her Mom. She stopped faking concern abo my life.

And I made myself a promise:

Get good grades. Get into college as far from here as possible

And never look back.

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