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.

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.