Chapter 3

Look out for them?

A thieving, gambling alcoholic who wouldn't lift a finger to save his own mother—they expected him to care for them in old age?

I stopped arguing.

After graduation, I secured a corporate job in the city. Every time I came home, Brenda sized me up, calculating how much my clothes and gifts were worth.

Leo constantly hit me up for cash on Venmo and never paid back a cent.

When I blocked his requests, he ran to Mom, and Mom bombarded me with guilt trips about "lacking basic human decency."

Last Thanksgiving, Leo openly sneered at the table: "Once I make it big, the first person I cut off is Harper."

Everyone laughed like it was a witty joke.

No one defended me.

I set down my fork, walked out of the house, and drove away.

Not a single person ran after me.

For decades, my parents poured ten times more love and money into Brenda's son than they ever gave their own daughter.

They genuinely believed a son in the family lineage mattered more than a daughter who would "leave."

I had endured it for a lifetime.

Tonight, my patience officially ran out.

"We're here," the detective announced, snapping me back to reality.

The East Industrial District was bleak and decaying. Faded brick, peeling paint, and stairwells cluttered with broken bikes and rusted appliances.

Second floor, corner unit. The curtains were drawn tight, but a sliver of light peeked through.

"That's the one," the officer said quietly.

We marched up the concrete stairs. The metal door was battered and scarred.

The officer banged heavily on the door frame. "Police department! Open the door!"

Silence inside.

Then, faint rustling sounds, like someone frantically shoving furniture around.

The officer banged three more times. "Open up now!"

The latch clicked.

The door swung open, and my mother stood there.

When she saw me behind two armed officers, her face turned ash white.

"Harper?! What on earth are you doing with the police?!"

She was in her slippers, her hair disheveled—she had rushed over here straight after calling me.

"Mom? What are you doing here?"

"Brenda called me hysterical, saying you were trying to destroy Leo, so I—"

"Step aside, ma'am," the lead officer ordered, pushing past her into the living room.

I followed close behind.

The apartment smelled of stale cigarette smoke and garbage. Brenda was curled on a stained sofa, her eyes bloodshot, her face pale.

Leo was nowhere in sight.

The officers scanned the room and headed straight for the bedroom door.

Brenda sprang up like a feral cat, throwing herself in front of them.

"What do you think you're doing?! This is private property! You have no warrant!"

"Ma'am, we are actively investigating a felony hit-and-run. The suspect, Leo, is on the premises. Step back."

"He's just a boy!" she shrieked.

The officers ignored her screams, bypassed her, and shoved the bedroom door open.

There he was.

Leo was crouched beneath the windowsill, clutching a gym bag stuffed with clothes and an envelope of cash.

When he saw the badges, he shrank into the corner, trembling like a wet rat.

"S-Stay back..."

"Leo, hands where we can see them. Step forward."

In a burst of panic, Leo vaulted toward the window to jump.

It was only the second floor, but before his second leg cleared the sill, an officer lunged forward, grabbed him by the scruff of his collar, and slammed him against the wall.

"Stop resisting!"

The metallic click of handcuffs snapped shut. Leo's knees gave out, and he slid to the floor, blabbering through tears.

"It wasn't my fault! I was wasted! I don't remember anything!"

Brenda charged in from the hallway, screaming like a banshee.

"Let him go! He's only twenty-two! You monsters, let him go!"

She clawed at the arresting officer's vest.

The second officer stepped in, blocking her path with an outstretched arm. "Ma'am, calm down! Obstructing an officer is a crime!"