My Father Declared In The Hearing, Saying, “At Last, Your Shop And Your Car Belong To Your Younger Brother.” My Mother Smiled And Nodded Along. I Remained Silent Until The Judge Looked UP AND SAID…

I took the foldout couch in the living room. No one asked. No one needed to.

That was just how things worked. The moment that broke something inside me happened when I was 11. Our family had a glass vase on the entry table, something my mother loved—blue and fragile.

One afternoon, Dylan was running through the house with a soccer ball. He kicked it hard. The ball hit the table.

The vase fell and shattered across the tile. I was in the next room reading. My parents rushed in.

Dylan started crying before anyone spoke. “It slipped. I didn’t mean to.”

My father looked at the pieces, then at me standing in the doorway.

“Alexandra, why didn’t you stop him?” he asked. I opened my mouth to explain. I wasn’t even there, but my mother cut in.

“She’s always around when things go wrong.”

Dylan kept sobbing. My father turned to him, softened. “It’s okay, son.

Accidents happen.”

Then he looked back at me. “You’re older. You should have been watching.

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