Came home for the holidays, but my mom opened the door and said, “You weren’t invited — this is for family only.” I turned around without a word; minutes later, my sister texted, “Don’t take it personally — you know how you are.” I smiled, froze the joint account, canceled the utility payments, and cut off every card; by morning, my voicemail was full — and the group chat was on fire.

The cake slipped slightly in its box as I gripped it tighter and walked back to my car in silence.

I sat in the driver’s seat for a good 2 minutes, letting the warmth from the heater push back the chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

That’s when my phone buzzed.

It was a text from my sister, Melanie.

“Don’t take it personally. You know how you are.”

That was it. No punctuation, no context, just a vague, smug jab that told me everything I needed to know.

See, Melanie’s always had this way of making me feel like I’m the one who’s difficult, like I’m the one who causes problems just by existing.

She’s 3 years younger, but you’d think she was the matriarch the way she talks down to me.

She was the golden child growing up, cheer captain, homecoming queen, straight A student.