I never told my sister-in-law that I was a Colonel in Army Intelligence!

I looked at her, really looked at her. Not the outfit, not the act, but the insecurity hidden underneath. The entitlement, built like armor. The way she needed someone to be smaller so she could feel bigger.

She didn’t know the “business trip” Emily had taken wasn’t work. I’d pushed her to go. I paid for it. She didn’t know the mortgage she complained about didn’t exist. I bought this house outright, years ago. She didn’t know the credit card she flaunted at cafés was tied to my account. She didn’t know anything—except the narrative she preferred to believe.

“Emily doesn’t mind,” I said evenly. “The house is taken care of.”

“She’s too nice,” Sarah shot back. “But don’t get comfortable. I’m helping her see the dead weight. And looking at you…” Her eyes lingered on my grease-stained jeans. “…you’re getting heavy.”

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