ad been a constant, low-level hum of co

bitterness. "That' s all your mother gave us. Eight thousand. My cousin Jessica g

r any family gathering where wealth was even subtly on display. It was the background music to

she announced, throwing her phon

the stove, the rhythmic scrape of the spoon against the

n listening t

ah. You' re upset abo

een years, and it still feels like a slap in the face. Your

the money, she claimed, but the principle. The lack of

ngrily on the tile. Suddenly, she stopped and turned

aid, her voice dropping t

ideas were rarely s

we get d

n. I stared at her, unsur

vorc

st on paper. I' ll move out, cry a little, make a scene. Your mother will feel so guilty. She'

y mind a blank. The aud

t at least eight hundred, maybe nine hundred thousand out of her. And some of her good jewelry, the diamon

. I pulled it out, my thumb swiping across t

ce bonuses. Yours is $3 million. Congratulation

Sarah' s voice, of the last fifteen years. I looked up from the screen, straight into my wife' s greedy,

, my voice even.

grin, completely missing the cold

e at my mother' s house for her birthday dinner last month. Sarah had corne

condescending. "I was just telling Mark, it' s a miracle we' ve managed to

udible. "We gave what we could at the

an insult," Sarah shot back. "Jessica' s parents gave he

t tightening in my stomach.

default mode: de-escalate, manage, endure. My mother looke

arm away from me, her face flushed. "She nee

ar surge of helpless anger. I was tired of being the

silence was thick with resentment. Then Sarah, s

e said, her voice hard as steel. "We hav

reed. Back then, I had dismissed it as a fit of anger. But now, with three million