4
وو
“How could she not have the money?! She
gets $250 a month! A train ticket is only a
few hundred dollars!”
“No, Ashley doesn’t get that much.
وو
“Are you senile? Both girls get $250 a
month!”
“No. Ashley gets $50.”
Yes.
く
My monthly allowance was $50.
This life, and the last.
The difference was, last time, Mom forced it
on me.
This time, I asked for it.
Back in September, I’d given Mom Dad’s
$3,000.
“Sarah’s health is delicate,” I’d said. “She
probably needs more money than me. I can
manage on $50 a month. Give the rest to
Sarah.”
Mom was surprised.
But she’d readily agreed, praising my
maturity.
After all…
She didn’t have to come up with another
excuse to berate me and take my money for
Sarah.
A train ticket home cost $500.
I’d saved for a whole semester just to get
But in the end, I was the only one who made
- it.
Home to Sarah’s home.
This wasn’t my home.
Mom stared at the floor, avoiding my gaze.
Dad’s lips were pressed into a thin line.
He knew he was wrong, but he wouldn’t
apologize.
In this family, only outsiders needed to
apologize.
I looked at Dad, still smiling.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I said. “Next time this
happens, I’ll give Sarah all my money for her
ticket.”
Because whether I came home or not, no one
cared.
I turned to go to my room.
“Ashley,” Mom said, her voice laced with
blame. “If you’d told us about Sarah sooner,
your father wouldn’t have misunderstood. You
wouldn’t have been hit. This is your own fault.
You can’t blame your father, or your sister, or
me.”
I stopped.
A bitter taste filled my throat.
Just as I expected.
But thankfully, I was prepared.
I turned back.
Pulled out my phone.
Played a recording from a few days earlier.
My voice, clear and crisp, filled the room.
“Mom, Dad, Sarah’s stuck because she
doesn’t have money for a ticket, not because
of some project. Tickets are selling out fast,
you should buy her one now, or she might not
get home at all.”
Then, my parents‘ mocking laughter.
Mom’s voice: “Honestly, Ashley, are you
jealous of your sister? Are you envious that
she’s working on a project?”
Dad’s voice: “Sarah just sent me a picture of
her holding her train ticket. Stop making
trouble. Why don’t you spend more time.
studying so you can get picked for a project
yourself?”
Then, they’d spent several minutes praising
Sarah.
Even when I tried to speak, they cut me off,
accusing me of having ulterior motives.
The recording ended.
My parents were pale, their lips trembling.
They had nothing to say.
No way to shift the blame onto me.
I went to my room.
Curled up under the covers.
In the middle of the night, I heard the rumble
of suitcases.
My parents tiptoed out the door.
When I woke up, there was a note from Mom
on the table.
<
Ashley, Dad and I had to go out of town.
Take care of yourself.”
I stared at the note, then opened the empty
fridge, a chill settling in my stomach.
This was going to be a long few days.
I knew where they were going.
Tickets from home were easy to get.
They showed up at Sarah’s dorm the next
morning with a cake, a surprise visit.
Sarah posted it all on Instagram.
“Not my birthday,” she wrote, “but any
excuse for cake with the fam! Happy New
Year!”
Strawberry cake.
Sarah’s favorite.
Mine, too.
But I wouldn’t be getting any this year.
It didn’t matter.
I could buy my own later.
