Chapter 1

"Wendy, we sold your matrimonial home," my mom said on the phone calmly, like she was chatting about the price of groceries at the market.

I froze for a few seconds. "You sold it?"

"Janet is going abroad for school, and it's going to cost 150 grand. We were a bit short, so your dad and I talked it over and sold that place. It just about covered everything," Mom explained.

That place was the matrimonial home that Ethan Reed and I were supposed to move into.

My parents bought it two years ago, saying it was for my wedding. My name was on the deed, and I'd even gone to check it out three times. It was 890 square feet, facing south, with big windows and plenty of sunlight.

"Mom, I'm getting married next month," I said.

"Just postpone the wedding for a bit. Janet's situation is urgent," Mom said, sounding a little impatient. "Once Janet succeeds, she'll have your back. We're all family."

I stood by the window of my shop, clutching my phone.

It was raining outside.

"Alright," I said. "Got it."

Then I hung up.

*****

My name was Wendy Lane, and I was twenty-six.

My sister, Janet Lane, was three years older than me.

For as long as I could remember, Mom had always said, "Janet's always been the smart one. She's going places."

I never really understood what "going places" meant. All I knew was, whenever there was something good at home, Janet always got first pick.

Eight years ago, I took the SATs. My scores were good enough to get into a top university in the state.

The day I got my offer, Mom glanced at it and said, "Wendy, can we talk about something?"

I knew exactly what that "talk" meant. I'd heard it so many times growing up. Whenever Mom wanted to "talk about" something, it always had to do with Janet.

Mom said, "Janet's applying for a grad school next year, and we can't afford to send two kids to college. Why don't you go to the local community college? It's close to home, and the tuition's way cheaper."

I stared at my offer, not saying a word.

"Janet's at a top university. She's definitely going to do better than you. Once she starts working, she'll help you out," Mom added.

I nodded.

I couldn't even find the email of that offer later.

All I remember was Janet gave me a hug after she heard the news and said, "Thanks, Wendy."

That was the only time she ever thanked me in her whole life.

Five years ago, I wanted to learn how to drive. I asked Mom if she could help with the money, but she said they were tight on cash.

That same year, Janet graduated from grad school and got her driver's license. Mom paid for her lessons, which cost $2,000.

I worked at a coffee shop for two months to pay for my own lessons.

Four years ago, I graduated from community college.

Janet came back from the capital, and Mom held a family dinner at home, inviting all our relatives. During the meal, Dad took out a box and handed it to Janet. It was a laptop.

"Janet, you've worked hard. This laptop will be useful for work," Dad said.

Two months later, I graduated, too.

There was no family dinner for me. Mom just said, "Work hard at your job."

"Sure," I said.

That night, I took out the money I'd saved and counted it. There were $1,100.

I started keeping accounts in my mind.

I wasn't doing it out of resentment. I just wanted to keep it in mind.

Three years ago, I opened a bakery shop, but I was short $6,000 for cash flow.

I called home, and Mom said they didn't have any money.

Three months later, Janet's birthday rolled around, and Mom bought her a designer bag that cost $10,000. I saw the picture in our family group chat. I just kept quiet.

I learned to fend for myself. I borrowed the money to keep my shop running from a friend and paid it back in six months.

My shop finally got off the ground.

A year later, I started making a profit. By the second year, my annual revenue hit 300 grand.

I never told my family any of this.

All they knew was that I had a little shop.

Mom would sometimes say on the phone, "Do you really make any money from that little shop? You should find a steady job."

"Yeah," I'd say.

I saved up for myself every month.

Five years later, I had 120 grand stashed away.

I tucked the passbook deep in my drawer, never mentioning it to anyone.

That was my backup plan.

Now, the matrimonial home that Ethan and I were supposed to start our life in was gone.

After I hung up with Mom, I stood by the window, watching the rain.

My phone buzzed. It was Ethan. "Wendy, your mom called. About the wedding..."

"Yeah, I heard," I replied.

"Are you okay?"

I thought for a second. "I'm okay."

He was quiet for a moment. "That house is yours. You can say no, you know."

"I know."

But what difference would it make if I did?

We'd just end up fighting. Mom would cry, Dad would yell, and Janet would accuse me of being selfish.

And then, the house would still be sold.

"Wendy," Ethan said softly, "we can buy our own place."

I held my phone, not saying a word.

The rain outside had let up a little.

"I know," I said.

That night, Janet dropped a message in the family group chat: [Thanks, Mom, Dad. I'll study hard and won't let you down.]

She attached a screenshot of her plane ticket to Westport.

Mom replied instantly: [Janet, go for it. You're our pride.]

Dad sent a thumbs-up emoji.

I looked at the message and didn't reply.