‘We Didn’t Order For You,’ Dad Said, Sliding Me Bread While My Brother Enjoyed His Steak. His Wife Said, “It’s Nice You Could Make It.” When The Bill Came, Dad Said: “Let’s Split It Fairly.”

d it back up and did the thing I do best.

Documented every line. The invite that said your brother’s treating. The moment Dad said, “We didn’t order for you.”

The word fairly hung like a chandelier of knives.

I wrote until the night thinned. I edited names. I posted it on Reddit and hit submit before I could talk myself into swallowing it.

One more text arrived as my eyes finally went heavy. An unknown number. Stories like that don’t stay at the table.

They spill. Be ready. No name, no emoji, just a truth that felt like a forecast.

The room went quiet. I slept for once on the right side of a boundary. When morning came, sunlight sliced through my blinds like it had something to prove.

My phone was still buzzing, relentless. Notifications stacked so high the screen froze twice before I could even unlock it. 47 missed calls.

68 texts. Connor, you seriously just walked out? Connor again.

Dad had to cover you. You owe him $300,

Victoria. Absolutely classless.

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