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

“The belt needed replacing,” I said, wiping my hands on a rag. “It’s done.”

Sarah sipped her latte slowly, savoring the moment. “Amazing. Maybe next you can fix your life. Emily’s out there working herself to death, and you’re playing mechanic. If it were my house, you’d be living in a tent.”

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.”

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