It was New Year’s Eve—my thirtieth birthday, actually—and I was struck three times by my own brother, Brad Davis. He stood over me, chest puffed out, spitting the words like venom. “This is my house, Jen. You don’t get to come in here and run your mouth like some outsider.” “You toxic waste of space. Get out, or I’ll hit you again!” He seemed to forget that this apartment was the one I’d bought for our mother’s retirement. He forgot his wife, Tiffany, was still wearing the gold bracelet I'd bought for Mom just last month. And he forgot his kids, Tyler and Jake, were still clutching the generous cash gifts I’d just handed them. I felt the burning sting on my face and looked around. Tiffany’s smile was a sneer, a cold, mocking noise escaping her lips. The two boys stared at me, eyes wide with antagonism. Carol, my mother, who had called me here tonight for my birthday, stood silently in the corner, her eyes red and averted, just as they always were. And I realized, with a sudden, bone-deep weariness, that I was done. … New Year’s Eve. My birthday. Mom had called me first thing that morning. “Jen, honey, it’s your birthday. Why don’t you stop by the nice bakery on Fifth and pick up a cake? We’ll have a lovely holiday dinner and celebrate you.” Tiffany’s brassy voice immediately chimed in on speaker. “Make sure you get one of those fancy gourmet cakes, the kids love the organic whipped cream! And make it a big one!” Mom quickly agreed. “Yes, yes, Jen, you heard Tiffany. A big, expensive one. And hurry up, don’t keep your brother waiting.” Then she hung up. I stared at the call record—less than a minute—and took a moment to just breathe before grabbing my coat and heading out. When I arrived with the cake, Brad answered the door. He glanced at the box in my hands and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “That’s it? Just a cake? Coming over to someone else’s house for a holiday dinner, you’d think you’d bring something decent.” I didn’t bother arguing. It was New Year's Eve; I’d had to pull strings and pay a premium just to get this one. Tiffany backed him up. “Seriously. If not for us, at least think of your mother and your nephews. So cheap.” I noticed the thick gold bangle on her wrist. I’d bought it for Mom’s last birthday. Now it was Tiffany’s. A few years ago, I would have been furious, demanding an explanation. Now, there was just an unnerving calm. This was hardly the first time. Mom poked her head out from the kitchen, trying to smooth things over. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Jen can make it up next time.” Tiffany shot her an impatient look. “Keep an eye on that chicken stock, will you? You ruined it last time. Pay attention.” My mother flinched, mumbled a couple of “yes, dears,” and disappeared. I watched, a cold, sharp blade of mockery twisting in my gut. At the dinner table, the cake meant for my birthday celebration was devoured by Tyler and Jake before a single candle could be lit. Mom placed a spoonful of broccoli on my plate. “Tyler and Jake start private school next year, Jen. We thought, as their favorite aunt, maybe you’d like to… pitch in?” I pushed the broccoli aside. “I gave them cash earlier. That was their holiday gift.” Tiffany shrieked. “That was a New Year’s bonus! You can’t use that as school tuition! Don’t try to redefine the terms!” I finally looked up, meeting their eyes. “So, now you want me to pay for their entire private school education, too?” The table fell silent. All three of them stopped chewing. I paused, letting the quiet settle before delivering the final line. “I don’t have it. If you need money, maybe Brad could, you know, find a job next year.” CRASH. Brad kicked his chair back, sending it slamming into the wall, and his palm connected with my cheek. The force stunned me. Tiffany continued eating, placidly picking up a piece of turkey for Tyler as if nothing had happened. My mother started to rise, then froze. Brad’s voice was grating, full of spite. “Who the hell do you think you are, coming into my house and telling me what to do?” SMACK. Another stinging blow. He paused, glaring at me, the fury in his eyes raw. Unsatisfied, he raised his hand one last time and delivered the third slap. “I’m the one who takes care of Mom! Asking you for money is a favor! You think you’re some kind of saint? Ha! You’re toxic waste. Consider those three slaps your lesson.” Tiffany chimed in with her usual condescending tone. “He’s right, Jen. We’re doing this for your own good. You’re not married, you don’t have a family. When you’re old, you’ll rely on Tyler and Jake for care. You need to contribute now so they’ll feel like honoring you later.” Their voices were a duet of smug, superior condemnation. The brutal pain spread across my face. I could see my reflection in the polished wood of the dining table: red, swollen, ugly. Like a tomato left in the sun too long. I lifted my eyes and looked at my mother. She avoided my gaze. After a long moment, she looked back, a flicker of resentment in her expression. “Jen, this is your brother’s home. Why do you always have to be so difficult? You see what you’ve done, ruining the holiday for everyone. Are you happy now?” I managed a faint, bitter smile, stood, and walked toward the front door. Behind me, Brad was still yelling, his voice laced with indignation. “Let her run! That useless bitch! If she ever shows her face in my house again, I’ll hit her harder!” I closed the door, and the ringing curses were instantly cut off. His house? I had bought this apartment for Mom’s retirement, and when they moved in, I hadn’t raised a complaint. They’d successfully squatted. But what they didn't know was that the name on the deed, the original title to this day, was mine. The cold air hit me, harsh and biting. I wrapped my coat tighter and began the long walk back to my own apartment. It wasn't far. Years ago, right after Brad got married, Mom had come to me, crying, saying Tiffany couldn't stand her and didn't want her living with them in their cramped rental. I knew Brad was essentially unemployed, living off Mom's social security. I felt bad for her. “Why don’t you just move in with me, Mom?” I’d offered. “I’ll give you three thousand a month, and all you have to do is cook for me occasionally.” I had an extra bedroom already waiting. But Brad had refused, yelling that I was only after Mom’s pension, forbidding her to live with me. I hadn't pushed it then, but now, after all this, I thought she might agree. Instead, she hemmed and hawed before finally shaking her head. “You’re a young woman, Jen. It wouldn’t be convenient for me to live with you. Why don’t you buy me my own place? A nice two-bedroom. Then I’ll be set for life, and my heart will be at peace.” I was stunned. Before I could respond, she started crying again. “Jen, you’ve always been the sensible one. Just help your mother one last time.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, checked my savings, and finally agreed. I found a two-bedroom condo quickly. Mom was overjoyed when she moved in, her face beaming as she called me her perfect daughter. But soon after, Tiffany got pregnant. That very day, Brad moved his entire family into the fully paid-off condo I’d bought. Mom was ecstatic, welcoming them in as if she hadn’t complained about Tiffany a few months prior. They had lived there for five years. I exhaled a cloud of frost, not feeling the bone-deep cold recede until I was safe inside my own home. I sat on my balcony without turning on the lights. In the darkness, I took out my phone and disabled the large-limit credit card linked to my account that I had given Mom. She had cried that Brad had taken over her bank accounts, leaving her penniless. I had set up the card so she could make purchases. A quick glance at the history revealed the same pattern: small, inexpensive purchases were necessities for her. The expensive ones were frivolous—gifts, electronics, or clothes, all clearly for Brad and his family. I closed my eyes. Then, I pulled the dusty condo deed from my fireproof drawer and scrolled through my contacts for the realtor who had handled the purchase five years ago. “I need you to sell this unit. Immediately. The price doesn’t matter. Get it done as fast as possible.” It was New Year's Eve, so the reply was slow, but it came. “Whoa, Jen! Didn’t I sell you that place? Selling on the holiday? You’ve got guts.” The realtor—Mitch—joked, but he was serious about the work. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it. It’s a great property, and if you’re willing to take a slight discount, it’ll be a feeding frenzy.” I typed a brief "Thanks." Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a flash of light burst across the night sky. A cascade of brilliant, glittering fireworks lit up my unlit living room. I glanced at the clock. It was past midnight. A new year. I watched the show for a moment, a lightness I hadn’t felt in years filling my chest. The fireworks continued their relentless celebration, illuminating the path ahead. I smiled, went to my bedroom, and crawled into my warm, heavy duvet. In the boundless landscape of my dreams, I saw my mother again, shielding a young Brad and me behind her from my father’s swinging fist. I saw her wake up in the middle of the night to gently tuck my blanket back around me. But then, the dream shifted. I saw Brad steal my favorite candy and toys, hiding behind Mom as he smirked at me. I saw Mom burst into tears, staging a scene, all to guilt me into giving more of my lifeblood to nourish her preferred child. She would look at me, and her words were always a mixture of blame and instruction. “Jen, he’s your brother. You can’t fight with him over things.” “Jen, he’s your brother. This is what you’re supposed to do.” I woke with a jolt. The room was bright; the sun reflecting off a thick layer of snow was blinding. My phone, resting on the nightstand, was vibrating maniacally. I looked at the screen and answered. Mom’s panicked voice immediately hit my ear. “Jen! That card you gave me, it was declined! Is it out of money? You need to put more on it right now. I need to buy things for your brother.” I spoke calmly. “It’s not out of money, Mom. I just… cut you off.” That sliver of a memory, that one small piece of good from my childhood, had kept me tethered for years, justifying the expense. But those three slaps? They were the shock paddles that finally woke me up.
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