Chapter 2 - The Facade Crumbles
By the next morning, the fallout was catastrophic.
I woke up to a barrage of missed calls from my mother. Her voice messages weren't about birthdays or barbecue leftovers; they were shrill, demanding, and laced with a terrifying sense of entitlement.
“Andrea, answer your phone! Trisha is here, she’s hysterical, she’s lost her deposit for London! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You promised her this!”
I didn't call back. I packed Hannah’s school bag, made her favorite oatmeal, and drove her to school myself. The world looked different through the windshield—brighter, clearer, and entirely devoid of the obligation I had carried for so long.
When I arrived home, Neil was standing on the porch. He looked tired.
"Your parents are in the living room," he said, skipping the pleasantries. "They look ready for war."
I walked in, bracing myself. Trisha was slumped on the sofa, her mascara running in dark, dramatic streaks. My mother stood over her like a guardian, her face twisted into a mask of pure indignation.
"How could you?" Mom shouted the moment I entered. "You destroyed her career! She was supposed to be in London in three weeks!"
I walked past them to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water, and turned back to face them. I didn't sit down. I didn't offer them a seat.
"She didn't lose her career, Mom," I said calmly. "She lost her funding. There’s a difference."
"You have no right!" Trisha sobbed, pointing a finger at me. "That money was for my education! You’re just a bitter, selfish person who can’t stand to see me succeed!"
I laughed, a short, dry sound. "Let's talk about selfish, Trisha. You looked at a seven-year-old’s jar of nickels and dimes and decided that because you couldn't afford your own life, you were entitled to steal from hers. You bullied a child until she cried because you wanted to look like the 'generous' sister at a barbecue."
The room went silent. Mom looked at Trisha. "What is she talking about?"
"It’s just money!" Trisha shrieked. "It was just a savings jar! She’s acting like I committed a crime!"
"It was her money," I said, my voice rising for the first time. "She earned it. She saved it. And you took it away from her, not because you needed it, but because you wanted to feel powerful. That’s not a sister. That’s a parasite."
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My father, who had been quiet in the armchair, stood up. He looked old, suddenly. "Trisha, did you take the child's money?"
She didn't answer. She just glared at me with pure, unadulterated hatred. That was my answer.
