When I refused, she slapped me in front of everyone like I was still a disobedient
child.
I stood up slowly, met her eyes, and said:
“Now it’s your turn to lose everything.”
The room went silent.
But she didn’t care.
She slapped me again.
Harder.
Gasps echoed across the banquet hall.
My fiancé, Ryan, rushed toward me.
My father froze in disbelief.
Relatives stared in horror.
And I smiled.
Because my mother still didn’t realize what I’d already done.
The first toast had barely ended when she slid into the chair beside me, smiling
like we were sharing some sweet secret.
“Natalie,” she said quietly, “it’s time.”
I already knew what was coming.
This wasn’t the first time.
Not even close.
For twenty-nine years, my younger sister Emma had been the golden child.
The princess.
The miracle.
The center of my mother’s universe.
And I had been …
Useful.
Whenever Emma wanted something, I was expected to provide it.
If she needed money, I should help.
If she made mistakes, I should forgive.
If she failed, I should sacrifice.
That had been my role since childhood.
The responsible daughter.
The backup plan.
The human ATM.
I spent years trying to earn the love that Emma received naturally.
Years.
Then one day I stopped trying.
Unfortunately for my mother, she never noticed.
“Natalie,” she repeated, smiling at the crowd. “Your sister needs that investment
fund.”
I laughed softly.
