My brother took my ATM card, emptied the account I had protected for two long years, and handed my bedroom to his new girlfriend like it was some kind of housewarming present.
When I came home after a fourteen-hour shift in the NICU, my suitcase was waiting beside the front door. Next to it were three black trash bags filled with my clothes. My parents sat in the kitchen, smiling as if they had only moved a chair from one corner to another, while my brother Liam slid my blue debit card across the table like he had just won a game.
“Your job here is done,” he said.
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