My mother slapped me in front of everyone for asking why my sister got thousands in Christmas presents while I got nothing—but she had no idea what I was about to cancel.

Madison’s jaw dropped. She stared into the camera as if I had spoken in ancient Aramaic.

"W-what?" she stammered.

"Sell the Birkin bag," I repeated, enunciating every syllable. "It’s worth six thousand dollars, right? Dad said so. Mom said you earned it. Take it to a consignment shop in the diamond district down on 47th Street. They’ll give you seventy cents on the dollar in cash. That will cover your tuition and your late fee with five hundred dollars left over for groceries."

"Are you insane?!" Mom screamed into the speaker, her voice echoing in the marble lobby downstairs. "That bag was a gift! A milestone present! You don't sell gifts! What kind of monster are you? You have thousands in your savings account! You work in high-level financial analysis! Four thousand dollars is nothing to you!"

"Four thousand dollars is four months of my student loan payments," I replied. "Money that I haven't been able to pay toward my own principal because I was giving Dad six hundred dollars a month to keep your lights on while you bought diamonds for an unemployed undergraduate."

"You selfish, wicked little bitch!" Mom shrieked, losing whatever sliver of sanity she had left. She began pounding her fists against the locked glass door of the security vestibule. "Open this door! Arthur and I gave you life! You owe us everything! You owe Madison her future!"

The lobby door opened, and the tall, imposing figure of Hector, the building’s daytime head of security, stepped into the camera frame. He looked thoroughly unimpressed by the spectacle.

"Ma'am," Hector’s deep, authoritative voice boomed through the speaker. "Step away from the glass. You are disturbing the residents."

"This is my daughter!" Mom shouted, pointing a manicured finger up toward the ceiling. "She is staying in unit 6B! She is holding our family’s financial assets hostage! Call the police!"

"I am the one calling the police, ma'am, if you don't vacate the private property within ten seconds," Hector said smoothly, placing a hand on his belt near his radio. "Miss Vance in 6B has already designated you as unauthorized visitors on the front desk log. Move along, or you will be arrested for criminal trespass and harassment."

Madison grabbed Mom’s sleeve, panic overtaking her rage. "Mom, let's go. People are staring. Mom, please!"

Mom glared directly into the camera lens with a hatred so pure, so toxic, that it severed the final invisible microscopic thread binding me to her.

"You are dead to me, Maya," she spat. "Do you hear me? Dead. Don't you ever show your face in Oak Ridge again."

"That was the plan, Helen," I said.

I pressed the button to kill the monitor feed. The screen went black.

I walked back to the kitchen, sat down at the table, and pulled out my laptop. But my work was interrupted an hour later by an alert from my credit monitoring service.

*ALERT: HARD INQUIRY DETECTED ON EQUIFAX REPORT.*

*Creditor: Oak Ridge Community Credit Union.*

*Applicant: Arthur Vance / Co-Applicant: Maya Vance.*

My stomach dropped into a cold, bottomless pit.