“You’re Just Waiting for Your Inheritance”
Trevor never paid a cent.
Never offered. Never asked how Mom was doing. Never apologized for being absent.
But that didn’t stop him from calling me one Wednesday afternoon with a voice like a slap.
“You think you’re righteous, Delaney,” he sneered. “You want applause because you hand Mom a little money.”
“We all know you’re buying forgiveness and waiting for your inheritance.”
I was sitting in my car outside the grocery store, hands tight on the steering wheel, like gripping it could keep my life from sliding sideways.
“I’m trying to help her,” I said.
He laughed — sharp, cold, practiced.
“Nobody helps for free. Stop pretending you’re the hero. You’re the worst sister I ever had.”
Before I could answer, I heard my mother in the background.
Her voice was raised, angry, unmistakable.
“She’s ungrateful,” Mom shouted. “She thinks she’s above us. Tell her to stop playing the victim.”
I felt the air leave my lungs.
In person, she thanked me.
She kissed my cheek.
She said she didn’t know what she’d do without me.
So which version was real?
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