“Your brother made a mistake,” she said.
Across the table, Evan stared at the floor, hungover, swollen-eyed, pretending shame while wearing a $900 watch.
Gambling had eaten him alive again.
This time, he owed people who did not send polite reminders.
I wrapped both hands around my mug so they wouldn’t see them shake.
“My oncologist moved the surgery up,” I said. “I need that money.”
My father laughed once, cold and ugly.
“You always need something.”
I looked at him.
“I have a life-threatening illness.”
“And Evan has people coming after him,” Mom snapped. “You think you’re the only one in danger?”
Evan finally raised his head.
“I’ll pay you back.”
“You said that when you stole my credit card.”
His face hardened.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
That was our family rhythm.
Evan destroyed.
Mom excused.
Dad enforced.
And I bled quietly in the corner.
But I had stopped being quiet three weeks earlier.
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