I’m the younger sister who got stuck planning our mom’s funeral while my brother Adrien performed grief like it was an audition. Adrien was our parents golden child because he was the creative one. He never held a job longer than 6 months, but he always had big plans.
Mom used to slip him cash like it was a secret handshake. When I asked for help buying textbooks, she’d say, “You’re strong. You’ll figure it out.” When mom died, Adrienne arrived in an expensive black coat and sunglasses like he was a celebrity.
He hugged everyone dramatically, then disappeared whenever there was actual work to do. I handled the obituary, the service, the paperwork, the endless calls. Adrien showed up to the funeral home meeting late and announced he wanted to speak at the service.
He kept saying he had something important to reveal. Dad looked exhausted, but there was still that reflex. Adrien matters most.
The day before the service, we were at Dad’s kitchen table sorting photos. Adrienne started complaining about how mom never understood him. How she held him back.
Dad finally snapped. Not loud, just sharp. Stop.
You’re not making this about you. I can’t do this anymore. This is on you.
Adrienne went silent. Then did that familiar golden child pivot. Victim mode.
Wow. So, you’re abandoning me while I’m grieving. I didn’t engage.
I just kept sorting pictures. At the service, Adrienne walked up to the lectern with a folded paper. He started with the usual, how special mom was, how she believed in him.
Then he pulled out his reveal. He told the room that mom had a secret savings account she’d built for Adrienne’s future, and that she’d told him personally that he should take care of it. I actually heard a few people murmur, like, “Oh, poor Adrien, burdened with responsibility.” Dad’s head snapped up, his jaw clenched.
I watched his hands grip the pew like he was holding himself down. Adrien finished his speech with a flourish, like he’d just delivered a plot twist. And then Karma walked in wearing a gray cardigan.
Mom’s best friend, Aunt Lorna, not actually our aunt, just one of those women who knows everything, stood up in the middle of the aisle. She didn’t ask permission. She didn’t look nervous.
She just said, “That’s interesting, Adrien.” She pulled out her phone, opened an email chain, and turned it toward the front row where dad could see. Because I helped your mother with her finances when she got sick. That account existed and two months ago she closed it.
Adrienne’s face drained. Lorna continued, voice steady. She closed it after she found out you’d been taking money from her checking account without asking.
She cried in my living room. Adrien, she said, “I don’t know where I went wrong.” “The whole room froze in that awful sacred silence you only get at funerals where nobody can escape what’s being said.” Lorna looked at Dad. She left the remaining money to pay off her medical bills so he wouldn’t be stuck with debt.
Then she looked back at Adrienne and said, “Not cruy, just truthfully. Your mother tried to save you. You stole from her anyway.” Adrienne’s paper shook in his hands.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Dad stood up, walked past Adrien, stood next to Lorna, and said into that same silence, “This is on you.” Then Dad sat back down without looking at him. Adrien didn’t speak again the entire service.
He just stared at mom’s casket like it might apologize to him. It didn’t.
The story nine.
I started dating Mina, who is funny, grounded, and permanently braced for impact around her parents. Her older sister, Sienna, is the golden child. Wellness influencer vibes, angel on earth posts, and a talent for making every gathering revolve around her emotions.
The first time I met the family was at a holiday dinner. Sienna arrived an hour late and announced she was taking a break from her fiance because he wasn’t aligned with her journey. Their parents immediately started fussing over her, asking what she needed, offering to pay for a weekend retreat.
Mina whispered, “Watch, she’ll ruin something.” Halfway through dinner, Sienna casually mentioned she’d borrowed Mina’s childhood jewelry box, an heirloom from their grandmother to use as a content prop Mina stiffened. She said carefully, “I didn’t say yes. Sienna smiled like a saint.” “You would have if you weren’t so possessive,” Mina’s mom laughed.
“Oh, honey, don’t be like that. Sienna’s building her brand. I watched Mina’s face close like a door locking.
Later, when Sienna went to the bathroom, Mina’s dad followed her into the hallway. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but their house is built like it wants secrets to travel. He said, “Give it back.
You’re not doing this.” She scoffed. He said, “If you’ve lost it or sold it, this is on you.” I looked at Mina. She looked like she didn’t believe him.
Next day, Sienna posted a video. When your family is threatened by your success, it was a montage of her crying, her journaling, and there it was, the jewelry box on her vanity with a candle and a manifestation crystal. The comments were disgusting.
Cut them off. They’re jealous. And blood doesn’t mean family.
Sienna pinned them like trophies. Then the twist. A follower recognized the jewelry box because it wasn’t just grandma’s old box.
It was a distinctive antique with a maker’s mark. Apparently a limited run collectible. The follower commented, “Is that the H and Suns box from the estate sale last year?
Those were reported stolen from the booth.” Sienna deleted the comment within minutes. Too late. Someone had screen recorded it.
Then someone else stitched the video, zooming in on the maker’s mark. Within 24 hours, Sienna’s brand was trending in the niche antique community. People comparing her video to stolen item listings.
A small-time reseller posted receipts showing Sienna had tried to sell the jewelry box through DMs two months earlier with her name, with her return address, with a please don’t tag me. Her fiance, remember him, commented on her newest post. So that’s where it went.
Family group chat exploded. Mina’s mom begged everyone to stop attacking Sienna. Mina’s dad sent one message.
Sienna, call me. We drove over. Sienna was sobbing on the couch, clutching her phone like a life support machine.
Her follower count was dropping in real time. Her sponsors were pulling out. She kept repeating, “It was just a box.” Mina’s dad stood over her and said, “It wasn’t just a box.
It was your sisters. It was your grandmother’s. You used it for attention and tried to sell it when you got bored.” Sienna looked up, eyes wild, and said, “Fix it.” He didn’t shout.
He didn’t lecture. He just said, “This is on you.” Then he turned to Mina and held out a small velvet pouch. Inside was the jewelry box’s key, something Mina hadn’t seen in years.
He’d been keeping it safe the whole time because he never trusted Sienna not to steal the box, too. Mina started crying, not because of the key, but because for once someone had quietly believed her.
The story 10.
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