"After all, with only a two-hundred-dollar budget and so many demands, I really can't deliver. The capable should do the heavy lifting—I'll just have to be the useless one."

"Oh, and since I'm so incompetent, remember to pay back all that money I've given you over the years. You wouldn't want to watch me starve on the streets, would you?"

The moment the words left my mouth, I transferred the two hundred dollars to Mom.

She was so furious she could barely speak. "You—!"

Stan steadied her with a hand on her arm. "Mom, just leave it to me. I'll take care of everything perfectly."

"Don't waste your energy on this ungrateful brat. She wants to nickel-and-dime you and refuse to lift a finger? From now on, leave these things to me."

"So what if she spent a little money? Big deal. I won't ask you for a single extra cent!"

I couldn't help but laugh coldly. We'll see if you keep that promise.

What I didn't expect was that Stan actually came back with a haul.

The relatives gathered around, eyes widening at the trunk packed full of New Year goods. "Stan really is the pillar of this family! Look at that problem-solving ability—absolutely unmatched."

"Everyone kept saying Tania was doing so well for herself, but if you ask me, she can't hold a candle to Stan. Capable and filial—you couldn't find a better son if you searched with a lantern."

"Sons are the ones you can count on. Daughters, no matter how successful, are just going to marry out eventually. Their hearts aren't with us."

They peered into the trunk, oohing and aahing. Every item was a premium brand. There was even a case of Moutai.

Mom basked in the praise, her smile never faltering.

Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she turned and shot me a sidelong glance. "Too bad I also gave birth to an ungrateful wretch. Should've never had her. All she does is make everyone miserable."

I didn't bother responding. I was too busy wondering how Stan had managed to buy all this with two hundred dollars.

Given that he'd tried to scam money off me just to buy his wife's wedding jewelry, I didn't believe for a second he'd willingly dip into his own pocket for this.

I crouched down and started examining the pile of goods on the ground. It didn't take long to spot the problems.

No production dates on the packaging. Seals that had clearly been broken and resealed. Knockoffs from God knows where.

More likely, only the packaging was real—and whatever was inside came from somewhere I didn't want to think about.

Just as I was inspecting the goods, Mom yanked me aside.

"Ungrateful thing! Don't you dare touch what your brother bought!"

I rolled my eyes. "I wouldn't dream of it. I just hope you all have the fortune to enjoy it."

Mom's teeth clenched so hard I could hear them grind. "You little—what's that supposed to mean?!"

I shrugged. "Nothing. Just wishing you all the best."

She glared at me, speechless with rage, until Stan cut in. "Mom, why bother with her?"

He pulled the case of Moutai from the trunk and announced to the relatives, "One bottle for everyone here—except Tania."

I let out a cold laugh. "Please. Don't waste it on me. I couldn't handle such blessings."

The moment he finished speaking, the relatives descended on the goods like locusts. Within minutes, only a few empty cardboard boxes remained.

They walked away beaming, unable to contain their delight.

It wasn't long before Mom rounded on me again, eyes blazing. "You ungrateful wretch! Look at your brother—he's the one willing to sacrifice for this family. What good are you?!"

I shrugged, utterly indifferent. "Since you think he's so much more reliable, go to him for everything from now on. And don't come to me—especially when it involves money."

"And when it comes to taking care of Mom in her old age, that's on you too. Don't come crawling back to me later, crying and begging for help."

Stan's face darkened instantly. Before I could react, his palm cracked across my cheek. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, Tania? You trying to cut ties with Mom?"

"She worked herself to the bone raising you! And now you're going to nickel-and-dime her? Don't you dare forget how she used to collect scrap—picking up plastic bottles one by one—just to put you through school!"

Oh, I remembered. But what I remembered even more clearly was that Stan had been such a terrible student he'd dropped out because he simply couldn't hack it.

Mom always said she collected scrap to pay for my education. But in the end? She spent a hundred thousand dollars pulling strings to land Stan a job.

Meanwhile, I survived on ten dollars a week. When my period came, I couldn't even afford pads—I made do with toilet paper.

When I nearly had to drop out because I couldn't scrape together tuition, I went to Mom for help. She just dabbed at her tears and sighed, "Tania, sweetheart, you know how tight things are. I work so hard but I just can't make enough. I'm useless, I know."

Then came the kicker: "Maybe you should just quit school. You're a girl—you'll get married eventually anyway. Might as well start working now."

In the end, I spent my entire break working in another province. One month of labor, alone, just to cover tuition.

I knew how hard-won my education was. From that day forward, I made myself a promise: I would make something of myself. I would take Mom and Stan somewhere better, give them a life worth living.

It wasn't until later that I learned the truth—the same mother who "couldn't afford" my tuition had somehow produced a hundred thousand dollars for Stan's job placement.

And somehow, I became the one responsible for everything. The moment I showed even a flicker of reluctance, out came the guilt: Remember how hard Mom worked to put you through school?

But even with all that resentment simmering inside me, I was still grateful. She raised me on her own. That counted for something.

So for years, I poured money into this family. I knew exactly how much I'd given—I just never kept score. I had the means now; helping out felt like the right thing to do.

All I wanted in return was for them to see it. To value me. Just a little.

But the moment I saw Mom's attitude—that entitled assumption that my money, my effort, my everything was simply owed to her—something in me snapped.

I refused to be their ATM anymore.

Everything I had, I'd built with my own two hands. No one carried me here. Stan dropped out because he couldn't cut it. Mom worked multiple jobs to set him up. I never owed anyone a damn thing.

I wasn't naive enough to expect equal treatment. I just wanted her heart to lean my way—even slightly. Even a fraction would have been enough.

But once again, I was disappointed.

Mom's voice exploded at me: "I wasted my life raising you! I don't want to see your face ever again—get out! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

She shoved me toward the door, hands rough against my back, and slammed it shut behind me.

The day before New Year's Eve, my brother slapped me across the face, and my mother threw me out like garbage.

But you know what? I was done caring.

I checked into a five-star hotel. Two thousand a night.

The old me would never have spent money like this. I'd always thought about Mom and Stan first—I need to give them a better life, I can't be selfish.

Now? I just wanted to love myself for once.

After my bath, I sprawled across the king-sized bed, mindlessly scrolling through my phone.

Stan had updated his social media. A family photo—him, his wife, their kid, and Mom.

Everyone beaming. Radiant. Complete.

Not one of them seemed to notice someone was missing.

A family of four—just right.

The caption on the photo caught my eye.

It brought back memories of my college years—every time I was away at school, Mom would gather with Stan and his wife to take a family portrait. Four years of university, four portraits. Not a single one included me.

I once asked her why they couldn't wait until I came home. She'd hemmed and hawed, claiming Stan was too busy and could only make time when I happened to be away at school.

Now I finally understood. It was never about scheduling. Their definition of "family" had simply never included me.

I tapped the like button on the photo—a reflex, maybe, or some pathetic attempt at connection. Within seconds, I discovered I could no longer see Stan's posts.

I tried sending him a message. Blocked. He'd deleted me entirely.

I didn't fall asleep until the early hours, drifting off into a fitful, hazy slumber.

I dreamed I was back in high school.

In the dream, Mom held my hand, her eyes soft with concern. "Tania, sweetheart, stop working those part-time jobs. I've made some money recently—just focus on your studies. Don't worry about anything else."

I got into college—a better one than in real life—and Mom threw me a grand celebration banquet. On move-in day, she and Stan drove me to campus together. They both told me I was the pride of our family.

Then my phone rang and shattered everything.

I jolted awake. Stan's name glared from the screen, and dozens of unread messages clogged my notifications.

The moment I answered, his frantic voice crashed through: "Where are you? Do you have any idea what's happened? Get home. Now!"

I kept my voice unhurried. "What's going on?"

He stammered, tripping over his words. "It's—it's the New Year goods! Aunt Maureen's in the hospital, so is Uncle Walter's wife—look, I can't explain over the phone, just get back here!"

Then came the accusation I'd been waiting for: "If you'd just gone and bought them like you were supposed to, none of this would've happened. This is on you!"

And there it was. Crystal clear. Stan's cheap knockoff goods had poisoned people, and now he needed someone to dump this disaster on.

"Did you already forget what you said yesterday?" My voice came out soft, almost gentle. "You made this mess. Don't come looking for me to clean it up."