I was twenty-four when I finally had a room of my own.
I'd saved up for every piece of it myself — the bed, the wardrobe, the vanity, the curtains. All of it, bought with my own money.
When I came home for the holidays, my brother's girlfriend came back with him.
The rooms had already been assigned. But my parents told her she could pick whichever one she liked.
That evening, in the living room, my father spoke up.
"Your room's going to your future sister-in-law. It's the nicest one in the house, everything's brand new, and it's her first time here. You can sleep downstairs with your sister."
My older sister, Carrie Finch, who was already married, chimed in. "Oh, quit pouting. You're so petty. It's not like we're giving it to a stranger. You've always been like this, always wanting the newest, most expensive things. That's just who you are."
"What matters right now is getting your brother's marriage sorted out. Don't you dare make a scene. You think we don't know? You decked out your room with stuff nicer than anything in the rest of the house."
The truth was, it was never about the room.
……
I stood in the living room, gripping my suitcase, while every pair of eyes in the family looked me up and down. Carrie sat in the massage chair I'd just bought, rubbing lotion on her face, clearly enjoying herself. A mocking smile spread across her lips. "Is the little princess throwing a tantrum again?"
My father spoke next. "All this because your future sister-in-law is sleeping in your room?"
"It's the holidays. Don't start acting crazy. When she gets back and sees this, what's she going to think? You're a grown woman. Act like one."
Carrie's eyes glinted with amusement. "So what is it this time, another runaway act? How long will it last? Want me to boil you a couple of eggs for the road?"
The words cut into me like needles, sharp enough to make my whole chest go numb.
But my parents were laughing.
Like they were still looking at that helpless little girl from years ago.
I was calm. Completely calm. Not like every other year, when I'd screamed at them, begging for fairness.
"From now on, I won't be coming home for the holidays. Don't bother calling to ask."
Carrie laughed the loudest. "Ha! When has your little princess act ever ended differently? Every year it's 'I'm never coming back,' and then you show up anyway to grab whatever you can. Mom sends you home with jerky, sausages, noodles every single time."
I looked my sister dead in the eye. "And what about you? You're already married. Why do you keep coming back here? If anyone should be hearing those words, it's you. You're the one who shouldn't be here. Things aren't going well at your husband's place, are they?"
The smile froze on Carrie's face.
My father's expression darkened instantly. "What the hell are you saying?"
"Nothing. Just stating facts."
The man Carrie married was no good. She couldn't stand it at his family's house, so she kept running back home every other day.
"Dad..." Carrie put on her pitiful act.
"Apologize to your sister. You're the younger one. You don't get to talk to her like that."
"When she was talking to me like that, you didn't say a word."
My father's face flushed red. I'd backed him into a corner he couldn't talk his way out of.
"I'm your father."
"You're in the wrong here. Apologize to your sister. Now."
"I don't want to."
My stubbornness, in my father's eyes, was nothing short of defiance.
And who would dare defy a man so convinced of his own authority?
When repeated demands failed to move me, he stood up and struck me across the head.
"You really think you're grown enough that I can't handle you anymore?"
My mother muttered from the side. "She had it coming."
Carrie smiled, satisfaction written all over her face.
They say a king favors his firstborn son, and common folk spoil their youngest.
Right. I wasn't the youngest son. I was the youngest daughter.
