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I thought my firm refusal would be the end of it. I thought they’d finally leave me alone. But I underestimated just how determined they were to profit off me one more time.
On Friday night, I was still at the office, working overtime long after dinner had passed.
My mom called. “Emily, when are you coming home?”
I rubbed my tired eyes. “Still at work. I’ll probably be here late tonight.”
“Oh, working late…” she muttered, her voice faint. Then, I heard muffled whispers in the background, like someone was talking to her. When she spoke again, her tone had completely changed. “Well, try to come home as soon as you can.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I… I’m not feeling well,” she hesitated.
Alarmed, I asked her what was wrong. She stammered for a while before finally saying she had a headache and needed me to pick up some medicine on my way home.
I knew she often had migraines, so I didn’t think twice. I closed the half–finished document on my computer, grabbed my bag, and left.
The moment I got to the house, I knew something was off.
It was loud inside–laughter, the clinking of glasses, and men’s voices booming as if they were at a party.
I hesitated at the door, my hand hovering over the handle. When I finally opened it, the scene inside made my stomach turn.
Sitting at the head of the dining table was a man I’d never seen before. He was dressed in an ill–fitting suit, his greasy, bloated face glistening under the overhead light. His
eyes landed on me the second I walked in, and the slimy look he gave me made my skin crawl.
I froze in the doorway, instinctively stepping back. I didn’t care what was going on–l
23:06 Fri, Jan 10 G
i froze in the aoorway, instinctively stepping back. I alant care what was going on- needed to leave.
But before I could even turn around, my brother spotted me.
“You’re back!” he said, all smiles as he walked over and grabbed my wrist. “Amanda
made all
your favorite dishes tonight. Come join us!”
“Let go of me,” I said, trying to pull away,
But he held on tight, his grip like iron. “Don’t be rude. Sit down before you miss out–if you wait too long, there won’t even be dishwater left for you.”
As he spoke, Amanda appeared with a chair, which she placed right next to the strange
man.
“Say hello to Mr. Randall,” my brother said, shoving a fancy gift bag into my hands. “He even brought you a present.”
“Mr. Randall was so thoughtful,” Amanda chimed in, her voice dripping with fake
sweetness.
My brother’s grin was practically glued to his face as he gestured toward the man. “Come on, sit down. Don’t be shy.”
I glanced at my mom, the one person I thought I could trust. But she refused to meet my eyes, her gaze fixed on the floor.
My dad sat stiffly at the table, looking uncomfortable but not saying a word. When he finally noticed me staring at him, he snapped, “Stop standing there and sit down!”
The gift bag slipped from my hands and hit the floor with a dull thud. My stomach
churned.
“You people are disgusting,” I said, my voice sharp and unwavering.
The thought of sitting at that table, breathing the same air as them, made me want to vomit. I didn’t care where I went–whether it was a hotel or the street–I was leaving tonight.
My dad slammed his chopsticks onto the table, pointing a finger at me.
“I’ve had enough of your attitude!” he shouted, his face red with anger. “You think you can just walk all over me now, huh?!”
Before I could react, he grabbed an empty beer bottle from the table and hurled it at me.
I ducked instinctively, and the bottle shattered against the wall behind me. Shards of
glass flew everywhere, and I felt a sharp sting as a few pieces grazed the back of my
neck.
For a moment, the entire room fell silent.
Then, my brother jumped up, putting on his usual “peacemaker” act. “Dad, calm down! Emily didn’t mean it!”
He turned to me, his voice dripping with fake concern. “Go to your room and clean up
your neck.”
I didn’t respond. They were outnumbering me, and I knew better than to escalate things further. Without a word, I walked to my room and started packing.
I was shoving clothes into a suitcase when my mom walked in, holding a glass of water.
“Emily…” she began softly.
Her voice broke something inside me.
I hadn’t cried when they framed me for stealing. I hadn’t cried when they yelled at me, insulted me, or even when my dad threw the bottle.
But the moment she said my name, the tears came rushing out.
Every single time. Every single time, it was her.
She was supposed to be the one person in this house who understood me, the one person who was on my side. But every time, she let me down.
“Why do you keep doing this?” I shouted, my voice cracking.
“Aren’t I your daughter? Why do you always help them hurt me?”
23:06 Fri, Jan 10 GL
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“Aren’t I your daughter? Why do you always help them hurt me?”
Her hand trembled, and her eyes reddened. “Your brother said his store is struggling. Mr. Randall is a distributor for liquor and cigarettes. he could help…”
“So what?” I cried, tears streaming down my face. “What does that have to do with me?!”
She flinched, looking away. “If it weren’t for the money you borrowed from him…”
I froze. “What money?”
Her voice grew even quieter. “The $10,000 you took from your brother…”
