My name is Lena Hart. I’m 27 years old, and I come from a family in Lancaster County that always looked picture-perfect from the outside. Chloe, my younger sister, was the fragile one everyone rushed to protect, while I was the strong one they leaned on until there was nothing left of me to lean on. I spent most of my life feeling like a guest in my own home, pretending I didn’t notice how easily I was forgotten whenever I wasn’t needed. Maybe that’s why what happened on the morning of my graduation shouldn’t have shocked me—but it did. Because falling to the ground in front of hundreds of people wasn’t the real collapse. The real collapse came afterward.
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