I was just trying to be polite to my neighbor. "Oh, your grandson is adorable," I said. "I'd love one just like him." I came home from college for the summer, and my parents had taken that comment and run with it. They had a baby. "He's only here because you wished for him, Sarah," my mom said. "That means you have to take responsibility." They checked out. Suddenly, my brother's entire life was my problem. From his homework to his job, and eventually, to his down payment on a house. When I couldn't afford the house, my brother killed me. I woke up, and I was back in that moment, in my parents' living room. "Wow, Noah is just so cute," I said, forcing a smile at our neighbor. "I'd love..." My parents' eyes lit up. They leaned in, waiting for it. I paused, and smiled. "...I'd love a waterfront mansion." "And a yacht!" "And to get my MBA at Harvard, all expenses paid!" "And about ten million dollars in a trust fund!" 1 Our neighbor, Mrs. Peterson, was visiting with her grandson, Noah. My mom kept glancing at me, then cleared her throat. "Sarah, honey," she said, testing the waters. "Look how sweet he is. If you had a little brother that cute... well, I’d just be the happiest mom in the world." I almost laughed. I knew the truth. It didn't matter what I wanted; that "brother" was already on the way. This whole song and dance was just a performance to trap me, to pin the lifelong responsibility of a child on me. Last time, I fell for it. Because I said, "He's adorable, I'd love one," I became the default parent. As soon as my brother, Leo, was born, my parents became ghosts. They dumped him on me. When he got older, his problems were my problems. Bad grades? I wasn't a good enough tutor. Couldn't get a job? I didn't have the right connections. Couldn't afford a house? I wasn't working hard enough. If I ever pushed back, they trotted out the same tired line. "He's only here because you wished for him, Sarah! You have to be responsible for his life!" My wish could impregnate someone? Their excuse for wanting a son was more creative than my senior thesis. The worst part is, they repeated the lie so often that Leo actually believed it. He failed a test, he blamed me. He got fired, he blamed me. He couldn't buy a house, he blamed me. The last time, when he came at me with the knife, he was screaming. "Why did you even wish me alive if you couldn't pay for it?! It's all your fault! You wanted me, so you pay! You can pay with your life!" The brother I raised. The brother who murdered me. And my parents? They signed a document, forgiving him. Asking the court for leniency. I was the only one who lost. This time, I wasn't playing their game. Mrs. Peterson, oblivious, nudged her grandson. "Go on, Noah. Say hi to Sarah. Ask her to hold you." The little boy just stared. "See, Sarah?" Mrs. Peterson cooed. "So sweet. You should tell your mom to get you one." My mom was literally holding her breath, staring at my mouth. The anticipation was pathetic. I beamed. "Wow, he is adorable. I'd love..." My parents both leaned forward, their eyes wide with victory. "I'd love a waterfront mansion in the Hamptons!" "And a ninety-foot yacht!" "And to get my MBA at Harvard, all expenses paid!" "And about ten million dollars in a trust fund!" The living room went completely silent. Mrs. Peterson's smile froze. My mom's jaw dropped. My dad, who was pouring tea, missed the cup entirely, splashing hot water all over the coffee table. "Sarah, what on earth are you talking about?" My mom finally sputtered, her face burning with embarrassment. My dad’s face was dark red. He slammed the teapot down. "That's not funny, Sarah. We're talking about something serious." "What's serious?" I asked, all innocence. "Mrs. Peterson asked if you'd like a little brother. What do you think?" I widened my eyes. "You mean, if I want one, I can get one?" My parents nodded eagerly. "Of course. We'd do anything to make you happy." "Awesome," I said. "I'll take the mansion first. Then the yacht. Then the Harvard MBA, and the ten million. Which one are you getting me first?" My parents just stared. I raised my voice. "I SAID, I want the MANSION! I want the YACHT—" "That's enough!" my mom shrieked. The fake smiles were gone. 2 Mrs. Peterson mumbled an excuse and practically ran out of the house. The moment the door closed, my mom was in my face. "Sarah, be serious. Do you want a little brother or not?" "No," I said, flatly. "I'm thinking of you," she insisted. "You'll have someone to look out for you!" "I have friends. I have a boyfriend. I don't need a kid to take care of." I crunched loudly on an apple. My dad jumped in, trying the "man of the house" routine. "You don't know anything. When you're married, you'll be weak if you don't have a brother at home to back you up." "Oh, well. Then I just won't get married," I said around a mouthful of apple. "Date, sure. But marriage? No thanks. Too much paperwork." "That's even better!" my mom blurted out, forgetting her script. "Then your brother can take care of you when you're old!" And there it was. The real reason. They didn't care about me. They just wanted a son. "Rely on a brother to take care of me?" I laughed. "I'd rather just die now." "You have to think about us," my dad snapped. "We've been looked down on our whole lives for not having a son. It's our turn to finally hold our heads high." "Don't worry," I said. "By the time your 'pride and joy' is grown, you'll be eighty. Nobody will be looking down on you. They won't even see you. You could fall on the sidewalk, and people would walk right over you." My dad's face turned purple. He slammed his fist on the table. "You ungrateful brat! It's our right to have a son! We've fed you, clothed you, put a roof over your head! It's not your place to question us!" Finally, the truth. I tossed my apple core into the trash. "Should have just said that from the beginning. Why'd you have to try and pin it on me? What..." I leaned in, staring right into their shifty eyes. "Were you planning on just having him and dumping him on me? Forcing me to be your free nanny and your family ATM for the rest of my life?" Their faces crumpled. I'd hit the nail on the head. "You... you... ungrateful..." My dad was sputtering, pointing a shaking finger at me. "I am the man of this house! I will have a son to carry on my name! And you're the sister! It's your duty to help him! That's just the way it is!" I threw up my hands. "My only 'duty' is to stop him from being born. We're already broke. You have no retirement savings. Why would you bring a kid into this mess?" My mom saw the direct approach was failing, so she switched tactics. She put both hands on her flat stomach, her eyes welling up with fake tears. "Sarah, I'm not young anymore. This baby... he's already four months along. I can feel him kicking. An abortion... it's so dangerous at my age. Can't you just think about my health?" "Your health?" I laughed, but it was a cold, sharp sound. "Did you think about your 'health' when you were having unprotected sex? You didn't bother with a two-dollar condom, but now that you're in a jam, you want me to worry about your body? You made this mess. You clean it up. Don't you dare try to guilt-trip me." Their faces were a masterpiece of shock and rage. My dad finally exploded. "We are HAVING this baby!" 3 There it was. The real, ugly truth. Seeing them, cornered and furious, I knew it was time. I whipped out my phone and hit 'record,' pointing the camera straight at their stunned faces. "See? That's all you had to say. It was your idea, not mine." "And future-baby," I said, pointing the camera at my mom's stomach. "You see this? I am 100% against you being born. Your parents are doing this against my advice. So when your life sucks, you go to them. Your sister has nothing to do with it." "You're not inheriting a throne, kid. You're inheriting credit card debt and a broken-down Ford. You're being born into a world that will chew you up... Good luck. We're all just trying to survive out here." I hit 'stop' and calmly saved the video. My parents' faces were ashen. "You... you devil!" my dad finally choked out. "You won't let us? Fine! We'll have him just to spite you!" I shrugged. "Go for it. Just remember what I said." I had my evidence. Last time, every time Leo’s life hit a snag, he’d take it out on me. My parents would just watch, or worse, egg him on. "You're the big sister, Sarah. Be patient." "If you hadn't wished for him, he wouldn't even be here." "He's just frustrated. You need to absorb that." This time, when they became his punching bag, I wondered if they’d be so "patient." When I got back to school, I started a new routine. I posted my workouts everywhere. I'd finish a three-mile run, sweat dripping, and snap a selfie. [Video: Sarah doing burpees] "Crushing that workout! Got to stay ready for finals!" [Photo: Sarah's reflection in the gym mirror, showing off new abs] "Progress! #fitlife #junior-year" My roommates thought I was nuts. "Sarah, you're already tiny. Who are you trying to impress?" They didn't get it. This wasn't about impressing anyone. It was about creating an iron-clad, public alibi. Last time, my mom’s pregnancy was a "secret." I came home for the summer and—surprise!—a baby. When I was sitting outside with him, an old high school friend walked by and stared. "Oh my god, Sarah... you had a baby?" My mom, who was right there, just smiled. "Oh, we just tell everyone it's her little brother." She wanted people to think he was mine. No one believed my denials. This time, I had a semester's worth of digital receipts proving I was nowhere near pregnant. The semester ended. My abs looked great. My dad called the day after my last final. "It's been two days. Why aren't you home?" "I just wired you $100 for a bus ticket. I want you home tomorrow." Right on cue. They needed their free nanny. I accepted the $100 and immediately booked a ticket south. [Text to Dad]: Got a summer job at an Amazon warehouse. It's great! They provide housing. Can't make it home, gotta save up for senior year! My parents were cheap. I knew they'd never pay for a nanny. And my dad? He couldn't make toast without setting off the smoke alarm. This was going to be fun. 4 My phone rang instantly. I let it go to voicemail. A second later, it rang again. I answered, holding the phone an inch from my ear. "SARAH JENKINS! YOU GET YOUR BUTT ON A BUS RIGHT NOW! Your mother is about to POP! We need you here! What is this nonsense about a job?" I waited for him to take a breath. "Hi, Dad. The job's great. Pays $18 an hour, and I don't have to pay rent. I'm saving for tuition. Isn't that what you always wanted? For me to be responsible?" "Responsible? Your mother is your responsibility! You can't just abandon us! This is desertion!" "Dad, I'm not abandoning anyone. I'm being an adult. You're the husband. You're right there. It's your job to take care of her. I'm sure there's YouTube videos on how to change a diaper." He was quiet for a second, probably from shock. I didn't give him a chance to recover. "Anyway, I signed a contract. If I break it, I have to pay a penalty. Can't talk, my shift's starting." I hung up and blocked his number. The warehouse was hot, the work was mind-numbing, but I'd never felt so free. I made friends, we'd go out for cheap beer and pizza after our shifts. I bought a new phone with my first paycheck and threw the old one in a dumpster. My mom tried texting me from my dad's phone. [Mom]: Sarah, the baby is so big, I can't sleep. Your father is useless. [Mom]: Sarah, I miss you. When are you coming home? [Mom]: The doctor said my blood pressure is high. I'm so scared... I read them, felt nothing, and deleted them. Sometime in late July, a number I didn't recognize called me. I let it ring, but they called right back. I picked up. "Is this Sarah?" It was my dad, his voice cracking with a manic joy. "Your mom had the baby! A boy! Seven pounds, six ounces! Mother and son are perfectly healthy!" "Oh. Congrats," I said, sorting packages. He was furious at my flat response. "Oh, congrats? That's all you have to say? That's your brother! Get home. Now! Your mom needs help, the house is a mess!" "Can't. Busy." "I don't care! You get on a bus, or I'll come to your school and tell everyone what a horrible daughter you are! I'll get you kicked out!" Same old threat. "Go ahead," I said, smiling. "Come to my university. I'd love for you to tell the Dean how you're trying to ruin my future to force me to be a free nanny. Oh, and I'll be sure to post that video I took—the one where you admit you were always planning to have him—to the school's social media page. We can let the entire student body decide who's the bad guy here." "You... you wouldn't!" "Try me. My life is my own now. I'm not paying for your mistakes. I'm not giving you a dime, and I'm not lifting a finger. Your son, your problem. Don't call this number again." I hung up and blocked that one, too. I made eight grand that summer. I used it to pay for my driving test and put the rest in a high-yield savings account. For the next two years, I was a ghost. I worked, I studied. I got straight A's, won scholarships, did internships. I got into my school's graduate program. And I met Mark. He was a law student, a few years ahead of me. He was kind, smart, and saw right through all my walls. When I finally told him the whole story, he didn't judge me. He just held my hand. "Sarah, you did the right thing," he said. "Your first duty is to yourself. You're not responsible for them." His validation was like oxygen. 5 I graduated with my Master's and landed a great job at a tech firm in Seattle. Mark passed the bar and joined a good firm. We rented a small apartment downtown. Life was good. Until my phone rang. I was in a meeting, so I missed the call. But they kept calling. Fifteen missed calls from the same unknown number. I had a sick feeling in my stomach. I stepped outside and called back. A shrill, unfamiliar voice answered. "Sarah Jenkins?" "Yes, who is this?" "This is your brother, Leo!" The voice was dripping with an arrogant, childish rage. "I'm warning you. You have one hour to send me $100,000. Or I'm coming up to your office and telling everyone what a psycho bitch you are." Leo. My god. He'd be... seven. He was seven years old. "Where did you get this number? And why would I give you $100,000?" "Because you owe me!" he shrieked. "Mom and Dad told me everything! It's your fault I was born! You wished for me, and then you abandoned me! You ruined our family! You owe me, and I'm here to collect!" The same lie. They had spent seven years poisoning him, turning me into the villain of his life. "Leo, listen to me," I said, my voice ice. "One: I'm not your mother. Two: I don't owe you anything. Three: If you come near my office, I will have you and your parents arrested for extortion." "You can't scare me! I'm right downstairs! You better pay up, or I'll tell all your fancy coworkers that you abandon your own family!" I walked to the window. Sure enough, on the sidewalk below, a small, skinny kid in a dirty t-shirt was pacing back and forth, holding a phone to his ear. And behind a nearby oak tree, I saw them. My parents. Hiding, watching, like two pathetic stage directors. My blood boiled. I hung up on Leo and dialed my company's security desk. "Hi, this is Sarah Jenkins in Marketing. There is a minor in front of the building who is being used by his parents to harass and extort me. He's threatening to enter the building. Yes, the boy in the blue shirt. His accomplices, an adult male and female, are hiding behind the tree to the left. Please detain all three and call the police." "Right away, Ms. Jenkins." I hung up and watched the show. Two security guards came out and calmly surrounded Leo. He started screaming and kicking. My parents burst from their hiding spot, wailing. "What are you doing? Let go of our son! You can't just grab a kid!" "We're just here to see our daughter! Is that a crime?" The head of security, a no-nonsense guy named Mike, just pointed. "We're holding you on suspicion of extortion at the request of Ms. Jenkins. The police are on their way." "Extortion?!" My dad panicked. I sent a quick text to Mark. [Me]: They're here. At my office. With the kid. I called security and 911. [Mark]: On my way.
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