Chapter 1

My sister Cassie forwarded a video to the family group chat. The title read: "I'm 25, and I've finally decided to move out."

Before I could even tap on it, the chat had already exploded.

Ethan sent a beaming emoji: "My little sister's finally seen the light! First month's deposit is on me."

Mom followed with a string of hearts: "Every girl needs her own space. Independence is what real confidence is built on. Mom's got your back."

Dad chimed in right after: "Whatever place you've got your eye on, your mother and I will cover the deposit. Don't worry about money."

Thrilled, I forwarded a listing I'd been saving for months.

The lively chat went dead silent.

Half an hour passed before anyone remembered I existed.

Then Mom dropped a link to a rental market article: "Rents are outrageous these days. Not a great time to sign a lease. Don't you still have student loans to pay off? Don't put too much on your plate."

Dad replied with a thumbs-up: "Your mother's right."

Ethan added: "Come on, just find yourself a rich boyfriend and let him foot the bill. Problem solved."

I stared at the screen, my fingertips slowly going cold.

I thought of the folding cot in the basement. The window nailed shut. The ceiling barely six-foot-three. Cold as an icebox in winter.

Meanwhile Cassie lived in the south-facing master bedroom on the second floor. Ensuite bath. Walk-in closet. A view of the apple tree in the backyard.

The year she started college, Mom and Dad paid her tuition in full.

I'd been out of school for four years, and I was still carrying sixty-eight thousand dollars in student loans.

Five minutes later, Cassie posted another funny video.

The chat came alive again.

As if I'd never said a word.

I quit the group chat and opened my email.

The offer letter sat quietly in my inbox.

Signing bonus: eighteen thousand dollars.

Two thousand miles from home.

Start date: three weeks out.

I stared at the screen, and clicked Accept.

...

At dinner, Mom asked in an offhand tone.

"Molly, that listing you forwarded—did you actually look at it carefully?"

The table was loaded with food. All of it was Ethan and Cassie's favorites.

"Yeah. I looked. One bedroom, one bath, close to the office. Pretty nice."

She frowned, tore a drumstick off the roast chicken, and dropped it into Cassie's bowl.

"How much a month?"

"Eleven hundred."

"That expensive?"

Ethan spooned more mashed potatoes onto Cassie's plate, then turned to me with a solemn air.

"You're still young. You don't understand how the rental market works. You can't just decide something like that on a whim."

Dad didn't even look up.

"How much do you make in a month? You've got someone cooking for you at home. Don't stir up trouble. There's a house here—why waste money renting?"

I paused, and looked up toward my "room."

The basement.

Under a hundred and fifty square feet, packed to the walls with Dad's fishing boat, Mom's Christmas decorations, and Ethan's old suitcases.

A folding cot was crammed into the corner, surrounded by piles of off-season clothes and old books.

It wasn't even a room. Just a storage closet converted into a makeshift crash pad.

Cassie had been in this family for fifteen years.

I'd lived in that environment for fifteen years too—and been overlooked for fifteen years by everyone in it.

Just like now. Cassie only had to set down her fork to draw every eye in the room.

"My paycheck isn't much to begin with. My car payments are already coming out of Mom and Dad's pocket. If I have to add rent on top of that, how am I supposed to buy handbags? How am I supposed to eat anywhere nice?"

The day Cassie graduated, Mom and Dad bought her a white Jeep.

"For a safe, easy commute," they said.

I'd been working a year longer than Cassie, and I was still driving a beat-up used Corolla. The back door didn't always open.

I chewed through the last piece of roasted potato without tasting a thing.

Mom took Cassie's hand and said, earnestly:

"Cassie, honey, don't worry about the money. You've got me and Dad, don't you?"

"And your sister can chip in too. She lives here rent-free—she's getting the good end of the deal. She ought to pull her weight."

My jaw stopped mid-bite. I couldn't swallow.

Seeing I didn't respond, Dad smoothed things over.

"We're family. No need to talk about who pulls what weight." He steered the conversation elsewhere.

I sat at the corner of the table, listening to them debate neighborhoods and floor plans. It was as if two worlds separated us.

Nobody brought up the listing I'd shared. Nobody noticed the tear that fell onto my plate.

After dinner, I cleared the table and washed the dishes alone.

Cassie's laughter drifted in from the living room.

She was unboxing the computer and accessories Ethan had bought her—a whole month of his salary, the newest MacBook Pro.

"Thank you, my absolute favorite big brother!"

"Anything to make my little sister happy."

Dishes clinked against each other. It struck me suddenly that Ethan had given me things too.

Just—used-up earbuds. Worn-out hoodies. Cast-off phones...

Before Cassie came, Ethan used to love me.

I used to ride along with him to every dialysis appointment. I'd make him laugh, and he'd buy me a strawberry lollipop.

I used to think, aside from Mom and Dad, he and I were the closest people in the world to each other.

Then Ethan finally got better.

The kidney donor was Cassie's father.

Nobody expected it—Ethan recovered, but Cassie's father never got up from that hospital bed.

So the day Cassie was brought home, when she hit me in a fit of rage, all Mom did was hold her and cry and say, "From now on, you're my own daughter. I will never let anyone hurt you."

I understood my parents. It was a grief no one could get past.

So I was good. I was reasonable. I tried to think of Cassie as a real sister.

But the day she found out about my grades, she fell apart. She said she didn't deserve to be in this family.

I still remember the disappointment in Dad's eyes.

"Molly, I've taught you better than this. There's nothing worse in a person than vanity."

Cassie ran away from home that night.

Mom hit me for the first time in my life.

Every certificate and trophy on my wall was dumped in the trash.

That was when I started to understand: my good grades didn't earn me praise from my parents. They earned me contempt.

So I learned to hold back. To dial down my scores.

Until my senior year of high school, when I refused to sacrifice my own future any longer. I stopped holding back.

Predictably, my scores soared.

And the day my college acceptance letter arrived, Cassie slit her wrists.

"Are you trying to kill her?"

Ethan—who used to hold my hand, who used to buy me candy—looked at me with pure disgust for the first time.

"You have to fight for everything. How do I have a sister like you?"

"I wish Cassie were my real sister."

The acceptance letter in my hand felt like a verdict, snuffing out whatever patience my family had left for me.

The living room still rang with the family's laughter.

The dishes were done, and I stood there, not knowing where to go.

Of the two-thousand-square-foot house, all that was mine was that folding cot wedged between a fishing boat and a stack of old boxes.

After Cassie came, my bedroom became Cassie's. The second bedroom was converted into Cassie's walk-in closet.

Later, when there was no place left for my things, I tried to move a few of Cassie's items aside. Dad said:

"Molly, put that down. Your sister's clothes are expensive—they're a pain to clean. You're the older sister. Show some sense."

Mom's tone made it clear there was no arguing.

"Don't compete with your sister over every little thing. I've cleaned out the basement for you. The window's nailed shut, but it blocks the light beautifully. Warm in winter, cool in summer."

The room that had once been mine was locked away from me.

I drifted back down to the basement and lay on that folding cot.

The fluorescent bulb flickered twice.

I stared at the ceiling and felt my heart teetering on the edge of collapse.

I opened my phone. The offer letter from San Francisco.

Two years ago, I'd stupidly turned down a high-paying job just to be close to home—just to be near my parents.

This time, I told no one.

Of course, no one cared.

Move date: three weeks out.

In three weeks, I would disappear from this cramped basement for good.