My older sister, Elowen, was twenty-six and constantly making disastrous life choices. Her boyfriend, Sylas, drove for a local ride-share app but refused to work standard hours because he liked having his afternoons free. They had just been evicted from their apartment because they secretly moved his cousins into their living room to split the rent, blatantly violating their lease agreement.
Instead of letting two grown adults face the consequences of their own actions, my mother decided to play their savior. To cover Elowen’s massive contract break fees and put down a six-month deposit on an even more expensive apartment, Maura liquidated my only chance at a debt-free education.
“You have your whole life to figure it out,” my mother continued, her tone dripping with self-righteousness. “Family means sacrificing for the people who need it the most, Vesper.”
I realized right then that my mother’s definition of family meant I was simply the designated sacrifice. I didn’t yell or scream. I just packed a single duffel bag that night, left my house keys on the kitchen counter, and walked out into the cold evening air.
