— Part 1 —
My sister’s wedding was approaching, so my parents made sure to fund everything. They bought her a house, furniture, even decorations. I said, half laughing, half hopeful, “I would also like all of this.” That was when my parents lost it.
“Your sister deserves it more,” my mother snapped.
Dad added, “Now we know you have money saved up. Hand it over.
We need to fund her wedding, too.”
“That’s all I have,” I pleaded. My mother grabbed me by the hair, slammed me against the wall, and shouted, “Hand it over and get out.
You’re out of the house and out of the will.”
My sister smirked alongside them.
I left that night with nothing. Now, five years later, they drive past my mansion every day asking, “Why does she have that?”
The announcement came during Sunday dinner. My father set down his fork with that particular finality he reserved for major declarations, my mother’s face already clothed with anticipatory pride.
They were going to fund Jasmine’s entire wedding.
I watched my younger sister clasp her hands, her engagement ring catching the chandelier light. Jasmine had always been beautiful in that effortless way some people possess—golden hair, perfect teeth, a laugh that made everyone in the room turn toward her like sunflowers tracking the sun.
Her fiancé, Douglas, sat beside her, his hand proprietarily on her knee, smiling that practiced smile he gave everyone. “We’ve already put the deposit down on the Lakewood Estate,” my mother continued, practically vibrating with excitement.
“The ceremony will be outdoors by the gazebo, weather permitting.
We’re thinking late September, when the leaves start turning.”
“The guest list is at 250,” Jasmine added, scrolling through her phone with her free hand. “Douglas’s family alone is bringing seventy people. Can you believe it?
His mother insists on inviting every single cousin.”
My father beamed.
His younger daughter could do no wrong. Never had.
Jasmine graduated college with a liberal arts degree and no particular career ambitions, spending the following three years bouncing between part‑time retail jobs while living at home rent‑free. Meanwhile, I’d worked full‑time through my own college years, graduated with a business degree, and moved out at twenty‑two to a cramped studio apartment I could barely afford.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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