My brother stole my ATM card and emptied my entire account. Then he kicked me out of the house, saying, “Your job is done, we got what we wanted.” The worst part was that my parents laughed as if it had all been part of a plan.

PART 1

“You are officially useless to this family. We have drained every bit of value from you, so pack your things and never darken this doorstep again.”

The words struck me with the force of a freezing wave the second I stepped into the foyer. I had just finished a grueling double shift at the medical center in Phoenix, my spine aching and my vision blurring from hours of standing.

All I wanted was a hot shower and to sleep until my muscles stopped throbbing. But there, resting against the floral wallpaper of the entryway, sat my weathered suitcase.

It wasn’t thrown carelessly or left open; it was zipped tight with my denim jacket folded neatly on top, looking like a calculated eviction from my own life. I heard the sound of clinking glass and sharp laughter drifting from the kitchen.

My older brother, Garrett, was leaning back in a chair with a cold bottle of beer as if he were celebrating a massive promotion. My mother wore that fragile, artificial smile she used whenever she wanted to pretend a disaster was just a minor inconvenience.

My father didn’t even bother to look up from the counter where he was slicing citrus for his snacks. “What the hell is this supposed to mean?” I asked, my voice trembling despite my efforts to remain steady.

Garrett smirked, looking me up and down with a sense of haughty triumph. “You heard the man. Your tenure here is over, and we finally got what we were after.”

A hollow sensation opened up in my chest as I stared at him. “What are you talking about, Garrett?”

He reached into his pocket and flicked a small plastic rectangle onto the wooden table. It was my debit card.

The room seemed to dim for a moment as the realization hit me. “Did you actually steal my card out of my purse?”

“Stop playing the martyr,” he mocked, leaning forward to tap the table. “I only took what I considered a fair management fee for your stay.”

I lunged for the card, but his hand slammed down over it before I could get close. My mother let out a sharp, condescending giggle that made me feel like a child being scolded for a tantrum.

“Now, Alana, don’t start a scene over nothing,” she said, smoothing her apron. “You have lived here for nearly two years eating our food and using our utilities like this was some boutique hotel.”

My blood began to boil beneath my skin. “You told me you didn’t want rent so I could save for my future!”