Born on August 7th, 1961, in Long Island, New York, Allison Carey entered a world that would test her from the very beginning. She was the second child of Alfred and Patricia Carey, arriving exactly one year and one day after her brother Morgan. In those early years, the two siblings were inseparable, often celebrating their birthdays together as if they shared the same day.

But being an interracial family during the Civil Rights Movement brought relentless hardship. Allison witnessed racism’s cruelty early—neighbors throwing glass-studded raw meat to their dogs, their family car blown up in an act of hatred. Inside the home, violence erupted between Morgan and their father Alfred, trauma that would eventually tear the family apart.

When Allison was eight years old, her parents gave birth to a third child: Mariah. The arrival of another daughter broke the symmetry, changing Allison’s status as the only girl. Three years later, when Allison was eleven, her parents’ marriage finally collapsed under the weight of their mutual torment. In the divorce, Allison moved with Alfred while Morgan and Mariah stayed with Patricia.

Allison had been a beautiful child with skin like butterscotch and thick dark curls. She was intelligent, curious, brought home excellent grades, and loved music. But the trauma she’d absorbed—the racism, the family violence, the divorce—had damaged something fundamental in her. She became skilled at manipulation, particularly with Morgan, instigating conflicts that pushed him to his breaking points.

At fifteen, Allison met a nineteen-year-old military soldier from her neighborhood and became pregnant. Her deeply religious father, a former serviceman with traditional values, gave her an ultimatum: marry or have an abortion. Allison chose marriage. With her father’s permission, she followed her new husband to his military station in the Philippines.

The bizarre combined baby shower and bridal party at her mother’s house confused young Mariah, who couldn’t understand if it was a celebration or a tragedy. Her mother paced, angry and upset, while teenage Allison kept pointing at her swollen belly. After the last slice of cake was gone, so was Allison—for several years.

Life in the Philippines proved devastating for the fifteen-year-old. Alone in a foreign country with no family support, she gave birth to her son Shawn in May 1977, abandoned in a hospital bed. Whatever happened to her during those years left permanent scars. When she divorced and returned to New York in 1980, the bright girl with dark curls had hardened into a cold, distant presence.

Mariah, now eleven, had missed her sister desperately and hoped they could finally build a relationship. At first, Allison tried. She took Mariah to parks, hosted tea parties, even helped with the neglected details of Mariah’s appearance—fixing her disastrous orange hair, shaping her eyebrows, buying her first bra. They were attempting to be sisters.

But Allison was trapped in a downward spiral. With no education or work experience, unable to find legitimate employment, she turned to the streets to support her son. When she met a pimp who introduced her to drugs, her fate was sealed.

The drugs made Allison’s behavior unpredictable and dangerous. One evening, when an argument erupted between Allison and their mother, Allison took twelve-year-old Mariah to an older man’s house. There, she gave Mariah a blue pill—a full Valium—that knocked the eighty-pound child into a dark, heavy unconsciousness. Mariah’s life hung in jeopardy in her sister’s hands.

Despite the drug use and prostitution that made Allison infamous in the neighborhood, causing Mariah endless bullying at school, Allison still had moments of brightness. She’d swoop in with gifts, new clothes, attempts at normalcy. But the drugs always won.

During one tea party in their dingy kitchen, everything shattered. When the phone rang and their father called, Allison and Mariah played a silly game about who would talk to him first. Mariah, giggling, revealed that Allison was there. In an instant, Allison’s playful expression turned rabid. She screamed “No!” and hurled her cup of boiling tea at Mariah.

The doctor had to cut away Mariah’s shirt with tweezers, removing fabric embedded in her flesh. Third-degree burns splattered across her back, the skin turning shades of maroon. The physical pain was excruciating, but the emotional wound cut deeper. Any hope Mariah had held of having a big sister became scorched earth.

Still, Mariah tried again. She forgave. They resumed hanging out—until one night when Allison’s boyfriend John showed up alone to pick up Mariah. As they drove in silence, Mariah saw the handgun resting against his thigh. John forced a kiss on the terrified child. Only the appearance of an elderly white man, whose face registered revulsion at seeing a grown man with a little girl, saved her. Mariah committed that man’s face to memory—a prayer in person.

In 1986, Allison discovered she was pregnant again. She gave birth to her second son Michael in early 1987 and briefly got clean, attempting to rebuild her life. Then came devastating news: she was HIV positive. The AIDS epidemic was killing hundreds daily, and Allison had joined their ranks.

Determined not to follow her sister’s path, Mariah poured everything into her music career. Working as a waitress and hairdresser, she got her break singing background for Brenda Starr in 1988. Brenda introduced her to Tommy Mottola, CEO of Sony Records. Superstardom beckoned.

As a final gesture of sisterhood, Allison gifted Mariah her iconic black dress. When fame arrived, Mariah didn’t forget her sister. She paid for rehab treatment, cared for Allison’s sons, and invited her to her wedding where Allison sat near Barbara Streisand, both sisters smiling for cameras.

But within a year, Allison relapsed. A bitter custody battle erupted when Patricia took seven-year-old Michael for what Allison thought was a routine weekend visit—and never returned him. Frantic, Allison tried reaching Mariah, only getting her answering machine. A third party called back with a message: “We’ll see you in court.”

On television, a desperate Allison pleaded: “I want to send a message to my son Michael. Mommy loves you very much. I’m doing everything in my power to get you back.”

Her attorney explained that Allison’s teenage years were spent in prostitution, that she’d been in and out of rehab, that she’d tested positive for AIDS. Patricia’s lawyer countered that the grandmother had acted because dangerous conditions existed.

In an exclusive interview, Allison revealed her conflicted feelings. “I love my sister and she’s broken my heart so many times,” she said. About jealousy: “Yes, of course. She was very popular, had lots of friends. I didn’t have any friends.”

When asked about prostitution, Allison explained simply: “Nobody wanted to hire me. I didn’t have any experience doing anything. I knew I had to get a job but I couldn’t find one.”

She acknowledged Mariah’s generosity—the rehab payments, the support—but added bitterly: “She has never let me forget one single cent she’s ever spent on me.” Yet Allison insisted: “I wouldn’t take another dime from her.”

Patricia won custody. Both she and Mariah raised Michael together. Allison was exiled from her family.

In retaliation, Allison sold false stories to tabloids, hoping to damage Mariah’s image. Mariah reflected years later: “I know my sister was deeply wounded. She is the most brilliant and broken person I have ever known. She chose me” to take her pain out on.

“Over and over I have tried to be her fire department, financing treatments and paying for stays in premium rehabs. But even with substantial resources, there is no way to rescue someone who doesn’t realize they’re burning.”

In 2000, Allison was sleeping in her car, attempting to write a tell-all book that never materialized. In 2001, Mariah featured Michael in her films “Glitter” and “Wise Girls,” ensuring her nephew had money and opportunities. She took him on international trips, determined to give him the stability his mother couldn’t.

When their father Alfred died in 2002 from cancer, Allison inherited over a million dollars. Within a year, she’d spent it all on drugs and five-star hotels. Mariah was devastated—that money could have started a new life, cared for Allison’s children. Instead, it vanished into addiction.

In the mid-2000s, Allison gave birth to two more children who remain private, now estranged from their mother. In 2012, liver cancer struck. In 2015, a home invader attacked her with a baseball bat, causing brain injury and memory loss.

The last glimpses showed Allison in a sobriety house, trying to rebuild a life shattered by trauma, addiction, and choices that had burned every bridge.

“I always hoped and wished Allison would get better so we could get better,” Mariah wrote. “I understand she was severely emotionally injured and had to take her enduring pain out on someone. She chose me.”

Two sisters, born into the same broken home, walked divergent paths—one toward the light of superstardom, the other deeper into darkness. Between them lay decades of pain, betrayal, fleeting attempts at connection, and the permanent scars of family trauma that neither fame nor forgiveness could fully heal.