When I was home for summer break, babysitting my sister-in-law's kid, she gave me her old laptop. Before I could even feel happy about it, I overheard her complaining to my brother: "Do you really think she's babysitting for free? She’s just holding out to get something out of it." My parents were also in the living room. Her voice was loud enough for everyone to hear perfectly. But no one spoke up for me. I looked around at what was supposed to be my "home." Suddenly, I realized I was the only outsider here. I hugged the laptop, pushed open the bedroom door, and said: "Chloe, I wouldn't want to take advantage of you. Here's your laptop back. You can just pay me standard nanny rates instead!" 1 As soon as the words left my mouth, the air in the room froze. My sister-in-law, Chloe, didn't say a word. She just gave me a nasty side-eye. My brother, Mark, stood up immediately, his face full of impatience. "Maya, is that how you talk to your sister-in-law?" "How am I supposed to talk? Didn't you guys just say I was taking advantage of you? Should I be bowing down in gratitude? Or is it just that you want a free babysitter and don't want to admit it?" This was the first time in years I had talked back so directly. My voice was shaking, and my hands trembled as I held the laptop. "You ungrateful brat," my mom snapped. "What free babysitter? Aren't you eating our food and sleeping under our roof? You can't even do a few chores around the house? Do you think you're some rich princess who doesn't have to lift a finger?" Eating their food and sleeping under their roof? Since summer break started, I hadn't had a single day off. It was more exhausting than being at college. My nephew was three years old, right at that hyper, chaotic age. He needed supervision practically 24/7. When Mark and Chloe finally got off work, my mom would drag me down to help out at the family diner. The diner's dinner rush started around 6 PM, meaning my days were a seamless transition of non-stop labor. By the time I got home at midnight, I still had to put the kid to sleep. Because we only had a three-bedroom house—one for my parents, one for Mark and Chloe, and the nursery—I had to share a room with the toddler every time I came home for winter or summer break. He tossed and turned all night, constantly kicking me. I just wanted to sleep, so I ended up throwing a sleeping pad on the floor of the closet just to get some rest. This little terror was the precious grandson my parents had been praying for, and everyone spoiled him rotten. A few days ago, he even screamed at me: "I don't want you in my room! This is my house, get out! This is my mommy and daddy's house!" just because I was trying to teach him the alphabet and he got annoyed. When he said that, everyone heard him. But Chloe just gave him a playful scolding: "When Auntie Maya gets married, she won't live here anymore! You'll miss her when she's gone!" My parents brushed it off, saying their precious grandson was just "speaking his mind" and told me not to hold a grudge against a toddler. How could I dare hold a grudge? I was already an outsider in this house, a second-class citizen. They never intended to keep a room for me in this house anyway. Was I supposed to keep sharing a room with my nephew when he grew up? 2 Mark is eight years older than me. Growing up, my parents always bragged about having a "million-dollar family"—one boy, one girl. Picture perfect. Relatives always told me how lucky I was to have an older brother who would spoil me. My mom constantly drilled it into my head how much Mark loved and cared about me. Saying he used to carry me on his back when I was little and refused to let go. I don't remember any of that. From my earliest memories, he was always mean to me and never smiled. My parents made excuses, saying boys just weren't very emotionally expressive, and told me to be more understanding. By the time I hit my teenage years, he was already an adult, at the age where he should be starting his own family. He didn't get into college. After bouncing around dead-end jobs for a few years, he moved back to our hometown to settle down. To help him find a wife, my parents drained their savings and took out a massive mortgage to buy a house in the suburbs for him—an $80,000 down payment, 30-year mortgage. Later, to pay for the wedding and the engagement ring, they took on even more debt. They only finished paying off those personal loans last year. Mark drained all the family's resources, making it incredibly difficult for me to even go to college. After my high school graduation, the atmosphere in the house was terrifyingly tense. I walked on eggshells every day. I constantly heard Mark and Chloe fighting. Chloe would scream that if she had known our family had such a massive "burden" (me), she never would have married Mark. Her voice was loud, everyone in the house could hear her, but they all silently agreed: I was the burden. All I could do was shrink myself, do more chores, speak less, and try to become invisible. I was terrified of seeing another angry look. That summer, Chloe gave birth to my nephew. My parents were busy running the diner, and Mark had to work, so for the entire first month postpartum, I was the one waiting on Chloe hand and foot. Every day, she gave me a list of what she wanted to eat and her dietary restrictions. I usually woke up at 6 AM, went to the grocery store to buy the freshest ingredients, and by the time I finished making breakfast, she was just waking up. When she slept, I watched the baby. Maybe I served her too well. A week before I was supposed to leave for college, during dinner, Mark suddenly announced: "It wasn't easy for Maya to get into a state university. As her older brother, I'll cover her tuition. But you have to figure out your own living expenses through work-study! Money is tight right now." I was young then, and there were so many things I wanted to say but couldn't. Because what could I say? Could I say that they should be paying for it? That all the family's money went to his house and his wife? That our parents were still paying off his debts and his mortgage? I knew that if I said a single word, I'd be attacked by everyone. They would scream at me, accusing me of trying to tear Mark's family apart. But maybe it was my constant silence that drove my status in the family lower and lower. Because from that day on, my mom and dad started lecturing me constantly: "Maya, you have to remember what your brother did for you! It's not easy for him! He's paying for your college in this financial situation. Don't you ever forget your roots." Sitting next to us, Chloe’s face soured, and she slammed her fork down on the table. Mark patted her shoulder reassuringly, took a sip of his beer, and said: "We're family, there's no need for all this. Just don't hold it against me later if I can't give you more, Maya." I sat at the dinner table, feeling like I was sitting on needles. Everyone's eyes were fixed on me, waiting for me to declare my absolute loyalty, swear to the heavens, and express from the bottom of my heart that my brother was my savior and I would repay his kindness tenfold. 3 Once I got to college, I barely ever rested. My family constantly reminded me how broke they were. Mark sent me a few hundred bucks a month for the first two months. Not long after, Chloe started sending me links to various articles and Reddit posts: "Best part-time jobs for college students." "How to apply for work-study programs." "How to qualify for financial aid and food stamps." She even sent me a Quora thread where someone was expressing deep gratitude to their older sibling for supporting them, and detailing how they repaid them later in life. After sending it, she added a message: "Maya, look how great their sibling relationship is! You know how I am, I don't mean any harm, I just want you and your brother to be close." This oppressive, daily psychological manipulation was suffocating. I stressed over my living expenses every single month, and when I got sick, I was too afraid to ask for money for medicine. But the more I acted like this, the more they took it for granted. When I went home for winter break and went shopping with Chloe, she would use words and glances to pressure me into paying whenever she saw toys or baby clothes. "Say thank you to Auntie Maya! If you don't say thank you, why would she buy you nice things?" After I paid, she would say: "Oh my gosh! You silly girl, you actually bought it! I was just joking around!" When we got home, she would loudly praise me: "Maya is doing so well for herself! She's making her own money and knows how to buy little Mason clothes and toys!" My mom would chime in: "What's the big deal? Her brother pays her tuition, buying a few toys and clothes is the least she can do." They seemed to think college was just showing up for roll call, leaving me with endless free time to earn tuition, living expenses, and even have surplus cash. All I had to do was collect my diploma at the end. Eventually, I didn't want to go home for winter or summer breaks. I wanted to use that time to make money so I wouldn't be so exhausted during the semester. Plus, I needed money for a deposit on an apartment after graduation. I desperately needed to save money. But just as I had secured a summer job... My mom called and screamed at me: "Are you really that selfish?! Your brother is paying your tuition, and you can't even come home for the summer to help out?! Why didn't you apply for financial aid grants? Are you so obsessed with your own pride that you don't care about this family at all?" I gripped the phone, tears streaming down my face. I had hesitated to apply for the university's emergency hardship grants. Because to get those grants, you had to stand up in front of a committee and detail exactly how destitute your family was. Many of the students applying were genuinely struggling, some even coming from homeless shelters. Ever since Chloe found out about the grants, she had been hounding me to apply. I went to the financial aid office to submit the application. Faced with the counselor's probing questions about my family's situation... My face turned beet red, and I finally mumbled that I wouldn't apply, that other students needed it more. But my roommates found out about it. For days, two of them made snide comments whenever I was around: "Some people are just so greedy! They want every penny they can get." "If you want free money, you should at least have some shame!" After that, I made up my mind. I was going to work over the summer and winter breaks. Anything was better than being at home. But that first summer, my mom called. She said Mark and Chloe were on the verge of divorce, and Chloe had to work so there was no one to watch the baby. She said the diner was depending on the summer rush to make rent, and the family was drowning in debt. She cried, asking how they were supposed to survive. If Chloe and Mark divorced, what would happen to her poor, motherless grandson? I stayed silent. She tested the waters: "Are you really that heartless? Can't you just come back and help your mom for one summer? After the summer, the diner lease is up anyway." And so, I compromised. Then came the second summer. The diner was short-staffed, and I told them to hire someone. They said if they hired someone and the business slowed down, they'd lose money. We were at a standoff until my mom slipped while mopping and threw out her back, leaving no one to take care of her. I had no choice but to rush back. I waited on her hand and foot, did all the chores, and took care of the kid. And all I got was complaints: "If you had just come back earlier, I wouldn't be in this situation! You think you're so independent now." And now today, after working for over a month with almost zero rest... Chloe handed me her old, discarded laptop. And then accused me of taking advantage of her, of just wanting her computer. I had been passing out flyers, working in warehouses, and waiting tables all month. I could have bought one myself. I could afford a cheap one! Her laptop was seven or eight years old. I was going into my junior year, and I still didn't have my own laptop. I had been shamelessly borrowing my classmates' laptops. For group projects, since I didn't have a computer, I would take on all the heavy lifting just so they would let me use theirs. After classes, I only had a few hours left. I had to eat, take the bus, buy clothes, pay my phone bill, and split utilities with my roommates... All that money had to be squeezed out of part-time jobs in my spare time. My Amazon cart had a dozen cheap laptops sitting in it. I looked at them over and over, compared them endlessly, but never pulled the trigger. I wanted to wait for Prime Day, but I had to buy a bus ticket home for the summer and cover other expenses, so I didn't dare spend the money. I thought maybe I could wait for Black Friday. I honestly doubted I would own a computer by the time I graduated. But even so... even so, I lived like a dog in this house. And all I got was: "She just likes taking advantage of people!" What the hell kind of advantage was I taking? 4 My mom was still mumbling from the couch: "You eat and sleep here, so what if you do a few chores? Given our family's financial situation..." My fingers dug into the edge of the old laptop, tears brimming in my eyes. "I told you guys, did I want to come back? Did I say I wanted to come back?! I know I'm worthless in this house. I know I don't deserve to eat your food or sleep in your house. I told you I was going to get a summer job. Who made me come back?! I work from dawn to dusk and I'm wrong. I try to stay at school and I'm wrong. What did I do wrong to deserve being bullied by you like this?!" My whole body was shaking. It felt like all the fragmented, suppressed memories of the past came crashing down on me like a flood. All the silent endurance, all the passive-aggressive comments—my sanity finally snapped. "Fine! You think you're getting screwed over?! You think we're taking advantage of you?! Is giving birth to you a crime?! Is your brother paying for your college a crime?! Who in this house owes you anything?! What 'our house'? If you don't want to be here, then get the hell out! If you have the guts, don't ever come back!" my mom screamed, pounding her chest. "Did I ask you to give birth to me?! Did I pull down your pants?! Did I ask to be born into this family?! You committed no crimes, I'm the criminal! Why don't you all just kill me?!" I hurled the old laptop onto the floor and screamed. My mom slapped me hard across the face. "I worked myself to the bone to raise you, and this is how you talk to me?!" She looked at me with eyes full of hurt. I felt like I couldn't even breathe. Chloe looked at the mess, kicked a chair over, stood up, and walked out: "No good deed goes unpunished. I have the worst luck marrying into this family. We pay for her college, and she turns out to be an ungrateful parasite." Mark picked up the kid and chased after Chloe. My dad finally spoke: "Are you done throwing a fit? Is this what you wanted? This is all our family has, and your brother is still putting you through school. Are you still not satisfied? How have we wronged you? We feed you, house you, educate you, and you won't be happy until you tear this family apart?!" I didn't say a word. I got up and went to pack my bags. My suitcase was already broken. This year, I had come home with just a large backpack stuffed with a few changes of clothes. I had cried for days to get that suitcase when I got into a good high school. Because my parents were already planning to buy a house for Mark, they said they needed to cut expenses. They said it was just a thing to hold clothes. But what kid in this day and age doesn't even have a suitcase? I didn't want to be a freak, and they had already broken their promise to buy me a phone for getting into the honors program. After endless begging, I finally got a suitcase of my own. It lasted five years. The casing cracked, and the wheels broke twice. I had no choice but to throw it away. I quickly shoved my clothes into the backpack. My dad suddenly smashed his coffee mug on the floor and yelled: "Do you only think about yourself?! Can't you just swallow your pride for a second? Have you ever thought about what your brother is going to do now that you've offended Chloe? He's under so much pressure paying for your college. Even if you don't want to repay him, can't you at least be grateful?!" Again with this. Again with the 'repaying.' I felt like I was going to laugh out of pure rage. I took a deep breath, looked into his murky eyes, and said: "Why should he pay my tuition? Do I not have parents? What are my parents supposed to do? Where did my parents' money go?" "What does that mean, Maya?! Are you blaming me and your mom?! We only have so much to give! If you sell our old bones, how much do you think we're worth?! Are you jealous we bought your brother a house? Didn't you live in that house too?! How was your brother supposed to find a wife without a house?! Your brother didn't even get to go to college! How can you be so selfish?!" "Ha! I'm sorry, Mom and Dad!" "Why are you apologizing to us?! Apologize to your brother and Chloe!" "No, I should be saying it. I'm sorry I didn't dig out your son's brain and force him to get into college. I'm sorry I was born into this house and forced you to waste food on me. I'm sorry I dared to sleep in your house; slaves should be sleeping on the streets. I'm sorry I had the audacity to go to college and make your son pay my tuition! I deserve to die! If you're still not satisfied, go grab a knife from the kitchen and stab me to death right now! If you wait, I'll be gone!" As I said this, my dad raised his hand to hit me. I tilted my head and dodged. Looking at these two people whom I had once loved so deeply... I finally understood. They weren't my parents. They were their son's parents. No, they were believers in the cult of their son. They had sacrificed their entire lives to their golden boy. And when the believers had nothing left to give, that's when they needed their "sweet little daughter." They couldn't demand any return on their investment from their son, so they felt entitled to demand warmth and care from the daughter. It was hilarious. Hilarious that I was only just waking up to it. I grabbed my backpack and walked out without looking back. Behind me, the cursing continued: "Let her go! When tuition is due, she'll come crawling back with no shame! What's the point of having a daughter like this? What's the point?!" I turned around: "You're right! There is no point! You wasted your life! You lost money giving birth to me! But that's how business works! You win some, you lose some. Who told you not to have more valuable sons? You could be paying off a few more mortgages, taking out loans for a few more wedding rings, living your days full of hope while drowning in debt! Instead, you had a money-losing asset like me. I didn't make you buy a house, I didn't make you take out loans for a wife. I just can't satisfy your masochistic need to be abused. Look at that! It's just your bad luck, just like it's my bad luck! I met you, and you met me. I told you, if you're not happy, kill me. Otherwise, go call the cops! Call the cops and tell them how I wronged you! Tell them how I took advantage of your son's old laptop! Tell them how your son is the victim here! Go get justice for him!" 5 I was having a massive trauma response, because the past few days, I had been having a recurring dream. I dreamed that I kept suffering, kept enduring, until I finally graduated college. I had been accepted into a Master's program, but because of their constant nagging—"When are you going to stop going to school? When are you going to stop bleeding us dry? When are you going to stop needing us to support you? Can't you think of the family for once? Do you know how old your parents are?"—I gave it up. Then, because they demanded money the second I graduated, I took a stressful sales job. I didn't have the time to properly vet companies, send out resumes, or study for civil service exams. I bounced between grueling jobs, pinching pennies to save a little money, only to have them guilt-trip most of it away from me. Because my parents worked physical labor their whole lives, they were still working at 60 to make money for Mark. This resulted in their health rapidly deteriorating just a couple of years after I graduated. At first, it was just sending them a monthly allowance. A couple of years later, it was pouring money into hospital bills. I was physically and mentally exhausted, with no time or energy to deal with my own life. I managed to go on a few dates, but as soon as the guys realized my family situation, they ran for the hills. I had no choice but to focus entirely on work. Until my nephew grew up. One day, he saw me buy myself a high-end skincare set. He started screaming at me, saying I was spending his money. He said I wasn't married and didn't have kids, so when I died, everything I owned belonged to him. I stood there in shock, but my family still told me not to hold a grudge against a kid. In the end, I tried to leave, but my parents caught me. My nephew threw a tantrum and tried to snatch my purse, screaming that I wasn't allowed to take his money. During the struggle, I was pushed down the stairs and died. In the dream, I was covered in blood. The image was burned into my brain, but I couldn't wake up. Later, I saw my parents cry for half a month, and then they took Mark and Chloe to claim the life insurance policy I had bought for myself. Ironically, I bought it because I had been working so much overtime I was having chest pains, and I was worried that if I died early, no one would provide for them. How can a person help others exploit themselves to such a degree? In the dream, after I died, all my insurance money and savings were given to Mark. My entire existence had become nothing but a human blood bag. When I finally woke up, it was right before my shift as their slave. The dream was too real. So real that the old laptop incident played out exactly the same way. Thinking about it, I kicked a tree on the sidewalk in frustration. Goddamn it, if I was going to have prophetic dreams, why couldn't I dream of lottery numbers or stock picks?! If I really had to live that life, I'd rather just end it right now. But I also clearly knew that if I continued to be the frog in the boiling water, if I silently accepted it forever, that dream was absolutely going to become reality. I didn't want to hear anyone else's struggles, hardships, or difficulties ever again. They all told me to be understanding, but who the hell was understanding me?! I looked at my bank account balance on my phone. Less than $500. I was glad I hadn't bought a laptop. Otherwise, running out like this, I wouldn't even have emergency funds. Classes started in 20 days. I had to survive one day at a time and make as much money as possible. After all, tuition was due as soon as school started. It was almost $1,000 for the semester, plus dorm fees and other expenses, and I still needed money to live. I originally thought about working at a diner or a fast-food joint, but even if they provided meals, I'd make maybe $1,500 at most before taxes. It wouldn't solve my tuition crisis. Luckily, my university was on the West Coast, near one of the largest wholesale garment districts in the country—the LA Fashion District. In my dream, I had worked in international trade sales. The memories were hazy, but they gave me a glimmer of opportunity. With less than $500 to my name, I took a gamble and bought a bus ticket back to California. I hit the ground running that afternoon, heading straight for the wholesale markets to find a job. I quickly found a gig as a sales floor associate. Minimum wage plus a 2% commission. Not long after I started, I realized there were a lot of international buyers roaming around. At first, my Spanish was pretty rusty, but I could manage basic transactions. As I got more confident, I started actively approaching foreign buyers. Just like that, I was making an extra $50 to $100 a day in commission. For housing, I found a dirt-cheap room in a sketchy neighborhood nearby that had nothing but a mattress on the floor. But for convenience, even this kind of room had a small, private bathroom, which gave me some basic privacy. Rent was $450 a month. To save money, I bought an $18 electric hot pot and cooked ramen and oatmeal every day, adding cheap vegetables and eggs so I wouldn't get malnourished. But I was already incredibly satisfied. That $450 shithole was the safest place I had been in years. When I got off work, I could lie on my mattress and rest. I didn't have to be terrified of someone calling my name, someone criticizing what I did wrong, or someone judging me for existing in their house. I could lie on that mattress and sleep soundly through the night. There was no kid to take care of, and no one giving me dirty looks for being a burden. 6 After working there for about 15 days, I wasn't satisfied just doing floor sales. I wanted to try getting clients online. But my phone was incredibly slow. I bought it right after high school, and to save money, I got a model with practically zero storage. I didn't even dare download too many apps. My boss, Maria, saw how driven I was and was very encouraging. Seeing how laggy my phone was, she casually handed me an old iPhone she wasn't using anymore. It was a couple of generations old, but it was lightyears faster than my piece of junk. Holding the phone, my throat felt tight. I remembered that my brother and Chloe frequently upgraded their phones, especially Chloe, who always got the newest Pro models. But when she upgraded, she traded her old ones in or sold them online. She never offered one to me. She said she needed a new phone for work, and since I was just a student, my cheap android was fine. She said young people shouldn't develop extravagant habits. She also said that a woman relies on her husband for a good life, and if my brother couldn't even provide a nice phone, what was the point of marrying him? Based on that single sentence, my entire family busted their asses trying to satisfy her demands. But romantic relationships are supposed to be based on mutual attraction and capability. Because my parents' son was incompetent and useless, he chose to make us compensate for his shortcomings. But why? I wasn't his parents. Yet today, something that I wasn't "worthy" of using in that house was casually handed to me by a stranger with no blood relation. Turns out, once you leave that house, it's not actually raining outside. 7 I started by taking small orders via email, and slowly I learned how to use B2B platforms like Alibaba and TradeKey. I registered on almost every platform available. When I got off work at night, it was daytime for my overseas clients. With only a week left before school started, I did the math. Even though I hadn't landed any massive online orders yet, combined with my floor sales, I was going to pull in almost $3,500 this month. I spent about $300 on food. It could have been less, but even though Maria initially said meals weren't included, she started inviting me to eat lunch with her every day once we got to know each other. I felt bad freeloading off her constantly. So I started buying snacks and drinks to share with her. That's how it is when you're poor. Even genuine kindness can feel like a burden because you worry about being able to reciprocate. With the start of the semester approaching, I was trying to figure out how to tell my boss. And how to ask if I could keep managing her online sales. But during lunch, she suddenly asked: "Kiddo, when do you head back to school?" She had already figured it out. My eyes got a little red. She grabbed a napkin and wiped the corner of my eye. "What are you crying for? You're still young! It gets better when you grow up! Once you graduate, everything will be fine!" "Did you save enough for tuition? If you're short, I can lend it to you, and you can pay me back by managing my online orders." A tear dropped onto my phone screen. On the screen was a text my mom sent a few minutes ago: "How long are you going to throw this tantrum? Apologize to your brother and Chloe! Otherwise, don't expect a single dime for tuition." Turns out, people with no blood relation will reach out and help you. While so-called family only wants to use tuition, living expenses, and basic survival needs to control you. Thinking of that, I immediately blocked her number. 8 I didn't borrow money from Maria. In those 25 days of selling clothes, I made $3,400 from online and floor sales combined. Maria rounded it up and gave me $3,500. I had about $400 left in my bank account from before. Minus the $450 rent (since it was a short-term sublet, I only lost a $100 deposit). That was $550. Plus the $300 for food. I ended up with almost $3,000 in savings. I felt completely secure. Plus, Maria agreed I could work weekends for her, paid daily. Base pay of $100 a day, plus the 2% commission. I was going to survive. Even if I didn't get financial aid, I could finish my degree.
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