Chapter 1

My brother's wife, Nancy Miller, plays the "clueless cutie" card on repeat. She swore she couldn't tell Dior from a grocery sack.

She hauled produce in my limited-edition bag, bathed her whole body in my La Mer, and massaged my serum into her crusty heels.

I stormed in to confront her.

Nancy's eyes welled up, lip trembling. She whimpered, "I'm so sorry, Laila. I'm just too dumb to know all those fancy names."

My brother, Peter Garcia, immediately jumped in to defend her, looking all protective. He shot back, "Who are you to blame Nancy? Maybe blame yourself for blowing cash on overpriced junk."

I didn't waste breath arguing; I went online and ordered a "La Mer" cream for a few bucks with free shipping.

*****

When I got home from work, I saw Nancy striding ahead of me. As I caught up to her, I was honestly stunned.

She had my Dior bag slung over her shoulder, the one I'd just bought a few days ago. It was crammed with groceries, two green onions poking out, the leather buckling under the weight of veggies and meat.

There were even some water stains on it.

Nancy turned around, spotted me, and waved me over. She said, "Laila, you're back from work?"

She excitedly opened up the bag and added, "I went to the market today and bought a nice flounder fillet. How about I make a light flounder-and-lemon soup for dinner tonight?"

I stared into the bag. Fish scales were stuck to the lining, and fishy liquid had soaked right through.

"Nancy, this is the bag I just bought," I said, barely holding back my anger.

Nancy nodded, pushed open the door, and walked inside. She said, "I know! Laila, this bag is just the right size for groceries. It makes shopping so easy."

I said, "Grocery shopping? This is a Dior bag. I spent 10 grand on it!"

Nancy froze, let out a surprised gasp, took two steps back, and covered her mouth with her hand. She exclaimed, "Wait, seriously? That much? I thought it was like ten bucks."

She looked at me, eyes fluttering, completely flustered. Tears welled up. She said, "Laila, I swear, I had no idea. I just saw it was big and thought it'd be perfect for groceries, so I grabbed it without thinking."

She emptied the bag and held it out, then noticed the fishy smears. Flushing, she snatched a tissue, wiped the lining, and only then handed it to me.

She said, "I'm really sorry, Laila. I honestly had no idea. If you're mad, you can have any of my bags, just pick one."

Her bags?

Honestly, those weren't even real bags. They were just plain shopping totes.

When I kept quiet, Nancy burst into tears, acting all wronged.

Her sobbing was so loud it woke Peter from his nap in the bedroom.

Peter rushed out and wrapped Nancy in a protective hug, glaring at me. He asked, "Nancy, why are you crying? Laila, are you bullying her?"

"No, it's my fault. I accidentally took Laila's bag. I'll pay her back, I promise," Nancy whimpered, snuggling into Peter's arms.

Peter shot me a glare and said, "Pay her back? We're family. We share everything. It's just a bag. Is it really worth all this fuss?"

I was just about to explain that this wasn't some ordinary bag, but Peter grabbed the bag and stuffed it into Nancy's arms.

"Take it!" he said.

Nancy bit her lower lip, looked up at me timidly, and tried to push the bag away, her face full of fear. She said, "Laila's going to be mad."

Peter shot back, "She wouldn't dare." He glared at me and said, "Laila, our parents died when you were just ten. I was the one who raised you.

"If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have made it to college. Now Nancy wants a bag, and you think you can say no?"

He wasn't wrong. Our parents passed away when I was ten, and Peter had to start working to pay for my schooling.

He used to treat me so well, but ever since Nancy came into his life, he was not the same brother I used to know.

He'd bend over backwards for every crazy thing Nancy wanted, and even started snapping at me because of her.

Every time we argued, Peter would rush to calm Nancy down first, before smoothing things over with me. Stuck in the middle, he felt completely helpless.

I didn't want to put him through that, so I let it go and went along with whatever kept the peace.

"That's right. Here, take the bag," Peter said.

He shoved the bag into Nancy's arms and murmured a couple of sweet things to calm her down; she stopped crying at once. Wiping her tears, she gave him a grateful smile, took the bag to her room, and then came out to start dinner.

At dinner, Peter couldn't stop raving about Nancy's cooking, and his nonstop compliments had her grinning from ear to ear.

For the next few days, I never saw Nancy using that bag for groceries again. She was back to hauling her usual shopping totes around.

Just when I started thinking maybe Nancy did all that just to get her hands on the bag, I noticed my La Mer cream had mysteriously vanished.