The night Grandma fell, the house didn’t just echo with a scream — it echoed with accusation. Y/N had been in the kitchen rinsing flour from her hands when the crash rang through the air. By the time she reached the foyer, her grandmother lay twisted at the bottom of the stairs, groaning faintly. At the top stood Elise, her sister, already crying. “She pushed her,” Elise sobbed before anyone asked a question. The words came too fast, too polished. Y/N opened her mouth to deny it, but the look in her parents’ eyes stopped her cold. It wasn’t rage. It was doubt. And beneath that doubt was something older and quieter — the unspoken reminder that she was adopted.