Shouts rang through the crowd, but they were quiet compared to the shot I fired, straight into my brother’s heart.

He had been drugged, it wasn’t his fault. The medical examiner determined that the reason he was trying to kill me that night was that someone had slipped something into his drink.

I wouldn’t be charged, it was self defense.

At the funeral, subtle glares followed my footsteps, along with kind words from understanding people.

At the grocery store, I can hear murmurs in other aisles.

In the waiting room for my own therapist it was like this.

But my sister-in-law, she was on my soda. Erica only surrounded us with people who were kind to me. She was on my side, because apparently there have to be sides.

That’s why I was surprised when she picked to slip something in my wine while handing out sides at a dinner party with only people who “supported” us.