3: 3
After I moved out, I shut off the family's shared accounts and subscriptions right away.
Everyone assumed I was just sulking.
Yara texted me, her tone dripping with charity. *Sis, I know you're jealous of me, but don't take it too far. Mom and Dad worked hard to raise you. Throw your little tantrum for a few days, then hurry back and apologize. Don't embarrass everyone.*
My mother went further, firing off dozens of voice messages into the family group chat, accusing me in that cutesy baby voice of hers.
"Mean big sister doesn't want baby anymore, baby's so sad, baby has no money to buy pretty dresses now…"
My father delivered an ultimatum.
*Evelyn Abbott, I'm giving you three days. Crawl back here and admit you were wrong! Otherwise don't blame me for disowning you as my daughter!*
I looked at the screen and blocked every one of them, my face blank.
Three days later, I hadn't gone home.
My mother finally realized I meant it this time, and she started to panic.
That day I was in a meeting at the company when the building management called to say the alarm in my apartment had gone off. They suspected a break-in.
My stomach dropped, and I rushed straight back.
I let myself in with the spare key. The living room was a wreck, and my bedroom door was flung wide open.
I ran into the room and found my mother crouched on the floor.
She had a big pair of scissors in her hand, and she was snipping away at a gown hanging on the rack, cutting off pieces of fabric and trying to stick them onto a doll.
That was the couture gown I'd had made at great expense, specially for an extremely important industry summit next week.
Hearing me, she turned around.
When she saw it was me, instead of panicking she held up the doll like she was showing off a prize.
"Evelyn, look! Baby made the dolly a new dress!"
"Isn't it super sparkly? Isn't it pretty?"
She was still wearing that ridiculous Lolita outfit, an innocent, delighted smile on her face.
I looked at the gown, completely ruined, and the blood shot straight to my head.
I walked toward her, one step at a time.
She seemed to sense the danger. The smile froze on her face, and she started shrinking back.
"I'm only a baby…"
"Baby saw the fabric all sparkly and wanted to make dolly a dress!"
Seeing my expression, she dropped onto the floor at once, ready to launch into her usual crying fit.
I let out a cold laugh and pulled out my phone, taking photos of the mess.
Then I turned, took the gown's purchase receipt and invoice out of the drawer, and spread them out in front of her.
"Three hundred thousand."
I pointed at the number on the receipt and said it slowly, one word at a time. "This gown. Three hundred thousand. Pay for it."
My mother's crying caught in her throat. She stared at that string of zeros in disbelief.
The next second, she burst into a wailing sob.
"Boo hoo hoo… mean big sister's bullying baby! Baby just saw the fabric all sparkly and wanted to make dolly a dress! Baby didn't know it was so expensive! Boo hoo hoo…"
She cried and kicked her feet against the carpet, like a spoiled brat rolling around because she didn't get her candy.
Right then, my father and Yara arrived too.
Seeing the scene inside, my father exploded, but the person he was screaming at was me.
"Evelyn Abbott! Have you no decency at all! She's your mother! She's just an old child, she doesn't know any better, why are you fighting with her!"
Yara chimed in. "Sis, aren't you overreacting? It's just one dress. Mom didn't do it on purpose. Do you really have to call the police?"
I looked at this family and their faces, and all I felt was disgust.
"She didn't do it on purpose?" I pointed at the scissors. "She used the spare key, pried open my bedroom door, and destroyed my most important gown with scissors. That's not on purpose?"
My father and Yara had nothing to say, their faces flushing a deep, ugly red.
"Three hundred thousand, not a cent less." I looked at them. "If you won't pay, fine. I'll see you in court."
With that, I walked out the door without looking back.
I moved straight into a hotel and contacted a lawyer first thing, sending him the photos and the purchase receipt.
Early the next morning, a lawyer's letter was delivered into my parents' hands.
But before I could catch my breath, my assistant knocked and came in, alarmed. "Ms. Abbott, there's a problem. Someone's making a scene at the front desk and won't leave no matter what…"
