My Mom Pressured Me To Take A Leave From Harvard Because My Sister Struggled To Finish School. I Refused — So They Told Me To Move Out. Years Later, When My Mom Faced A Serious Health Diagnosis, She Asked Me For Help With Treatment. I Only Said:

“Proud,” she said, squeezing my shoulder.

“Lucky, Brooke, already a drink and a half in.”

Just laughed and added, “We’ll see if she still remembers us when she’s all Ivy League and married to some guy named Chad.”

It was a joke, but there was an edge to it.

That edge got sharper once I actually got to Harvard.

At first, Brook’s messages were supportive in her own way.

Send dorm pics.

Do they really make you read that much?

Please tell me someone there is hot.

But slowly they changed.

When I texted her about being stressed for midterms, she replied, “Must be nice for that to be your biggest problem.”

When I mentioned my work study job at the library, she wrote, “I’ve already worked more hours this week than you will all month, but sure, tell me again how tired you are.”

Around the same time, the gambling app notifications started lighting up her phone more often.

She didn’t hide them, just shrugged and said, “It’s fine. I know when to stop.”

In the same voice people use when they absolutely do not know when to stop.

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