1 My sister, Bethany, was always praised for being a big-hearted saint. Ever since we were kids, she lectured me about taking things easy and not sweating the small stuff. When a coworker swapped my winning scratch-off card during lunch and claimed the cash, Bethany told me to let it go. “You work together, Paige,” she’d said. “Don’t be petty.” When her husband stumbled into my bedroom dead drunk and tried to lay his hands on me, she wept and begged for my sympathy, crying about how hard marriage was and asking me to ignore it for her sake. Yet, when our mother wore one of her coats home and forgot to return it, Bethany drove over in the middle of the night to demand it back, completely forgetting her own golden rule. That was when I finally saw her for what she was and cut her off. She brushed it off, of course, telling everyone I was just making a mountain out of a molehill. Years later, her husband cleaned out their bank accounts to buy a condo for his mistress, and her own son accused her of abuse, choosing to live with his grandmother rather than step foot in her house. She came to me on her knees, sobbing for help. I knew exactly what was happening, but I simply patted her head, mimicking the exact empty comfort she used to give me, and smiled. “It’s just a minor setback, Bethany. Don’t sweat the small stuff.” On the day my coworker stole my winning ticket, Bethany was right there with us. We were at a local diner when I scratched off a five-thousand-dollar winner. I went to the restroom for two minutes, and when I came back, my coworker, Sarah, had swapped the cards. She looked me dead in the eye and claimed the winning ticket was hers. Blood rushed to my face. I was furious, and I wasn’t about to play nice. “Cut the crap, Sarah,” I snapped. “You know exactly what you did. To put it bluntly, that’s theft.” But Sarah didn’t even blink. She shot back, entirely unbothered, “It’s just five grand, Paige. Why are you acting so dramatic? If this is theft, then anyone who finds a dollar on the street belongs in prison! The ticket is in my hand, so the money is mine. Do I really need to spell it out for you?” The diner was packed. Our argument quickly drew a crowd, with people whispering and taking sides. Some defended me, while others backed Sarah. Bethany just stood to the side, silent as a statue, watching the drama unfold like she was a spectator at a movie. The cashier at the counter was getting annoyed by the scene. Eager to clear the lobby, he stepped in to mediate. “Alright, folks, let’s break it up. It’s five grand, not a million dollars.” He looked at the three of us. “You guys bought these tickets together, right? Since both of you claim it’s yours, let’s ask the third person. She was here the whole time. Whatever she says goes, deal?” I had no issue with that. I wasn’t even thinking about the sisterly bond. The facts were simple: I had bought all three scratch-offs, and I was the one who uncovered the winning numbers. Bethany was the eyewitness. She knew the truth, so backing me up wasn’t favoritism; it was just stating a fact. Sarah immediately protested. “No way! They’re sisters. I’m the outsider here. Obviously, she’s going to take her sister’s side. That’s basically giving away my money!” Her words swayed the crowd. Murmurs of agreement rippled through the onlookers. In any normal situation, blood runs thicker than water, and people assumed Bethany would lie for me. Even I felt a bit self-conscious, assuming deep down that Bethany would naturally back me. But I was totally unprepared for what came out of her mouth next. “I think you guys are being deeply unfair, judging us based on assumptions,” Bethany said, flashing a small, apologetic smile to the crowd. Then, she turned her eyes to me. “Since you’re asking me, I have to be honest. My sister didn’t win that prize. Does that answer satisfy everyone?” 2 The slight curve of Bethany’s lips felt like a slap in the face. It was a bizarre mix of people-pleasing and quiet defiance. I stood there, utterly paralyzed, my mind going completely blank. The cashier gave us a brief look and shrugged. “Alright, since we have an eyewitness, I’ll pay out the prize to the holder. Whatever issues you have after you leave this counter are on you.” My scalp prickled. I couldn’t move, frozen under the weight of the whispers and mocking glances of the crowd. I watched Sarah step up to the register, claim the cash, and wave the bills in my face with a triumphant smirk. I couldn’t even summon the energy to glare back. “See? Your own sister wouldn’t lie to cover for you,” Sarah crowed, slipping the bills into her purse. “Tell you what, I won’t hold this against you. I don’t want a few grand ruining our friendship. I’ll Venmo you fifty bucks later for lunch, okay?” A scream built up in my throat, but with my own sister betraying me, I had no defense. I was branded the greedy liar in the eyes of everyone in that diner. Sarah walked out of the diner with a spring in her step. Bethany grabbed my arm and pulled me out into the crisp, chilly autumn air. The cold wind shocked me back to reality. When I looked at her, she had this gentle, patronizing expression, as if she had just saved my soul and I was being ungrateful. “I know you’re upset, Paige, but making a scene in front of all those people wasn’t going to solve anything,” she said, her voice dripping with sweet reason. “Did you see how aggressive they were getting? If I had sided with you, they probably wouldn’t have let us leave without a fight. “Besides, Sarah is leaving the company next week anyway. Just think of the five grand as a parting gift. You guys are colleagues, there’s no need to sweat the small stuff. Making a scene benefits no one.” Seeing my stony silence, she added, “If it really bothers you that much, I can give you five grand from my own pocket. Okay?” She made it sound so simple. She was barely scraping by, so how could I possibly take her money? Bethany had been sickly since childhood. Even though she was the older sister, I was the one who always took care of her. She hated conflict and always pacified everyone around her, constantly whispering in my ear to let it go and not be petty, claiming it was for my own good. Every time I tried to argue, she would start crying, leaving me completely helpless. I had no choice but to swallow my anger and frustration. “Whatever, keep your money,” I muttered, brushing her hand off. “I don’t want it. What’s done is done. It’s just money, I can earn it back.” Back then, I didn’t realize that playing the victim is often the ultimate power play. 3 Bethany lived in a sleepy little suburb outside the city. She had traveled downtown for some medical tests and brought her husband, Frank, to crash at my apartment. I had been against her marriage from the start. Frank’s mother was a domineering nightmare, and Frank himself was a lazy, useless man who never lifted a finger for Bethany. The worst incident happened during Thanksgiving when she brought Frank’s family to our mother’s house. Right in front of Mom, her mother-in-law began screaming at Bethany, boastfully claiming that even in Bethany’s childhood home, she had every right to slap her or berate her as she pleased. The woman’s sheer arrogance made my blood boil. Unable to take it, I slammed my hand on the table and tore into her mother-in-law. But instead of standing up for herself, Bethany grabbed my arm, practically bowing to the woman to apologize. Later, she turned to me and whispered, “It’s fine, Paige. We’re family. Don’t sweat the small stuff.” Even Mom agreed, saying that since the knot was tied, starting a war wouldn’t do Bethany any favors. Furious, I packed my bags and stayed at a friend’s place for three days, refusing to speak to either of them until after the holidays. Even though that incident was water under the bridge, I still couldn’t stand the sight of Frank. Seeing him lounge around my apartment, eating my food and leaving a trail of mess, only fueled my irritation. The scratch-off incident still left a bitter taste in my mouth. No matter how noble Bethany’s lectures sounded, I needed space. The next day, I chose not to join them for dinner. Bethany wanted to go shopping, and Frank, true to form, refused to accompany her. By the time I got home from work, the apartment was empty. Exhausted, I crashed on my bed and fell fast asleep. Sometime later, I was violently jolted awake by hands groping my shoulders. The smell of cheap beer filled the air. With a terrified shriek, I threw myself out of bed and flipped the light switch. The harsh glow of the overhead light revealed Frank standing by my bed, a disgusting, drunken grin plastered across his face. He tried to step closer, his eyes glazed with lust. Shaking with raw terror and fury, I swung my arm and delivered a hard slap across his face. “Do you know where you are? Who I am?!” I yelled. Frank barely flinched. He rubbed his cheek, his smile turning sleazy. “Of course I know. You’re my beautiful little sister-in-law. And I’ve wanted to get in your bed for a long time.” My stomach churned. A second ago, I was trying to rationalize it, hoping he was just drunk and had mistaken my room for his. But this was no mistake. He was a predator. Bethany wasn’t back yet. I screamed for help, but my voice only echoed off the empty walls. My heart hammered against my ribs as I tried to keep the bed between us. “Frank, if you lay one more finger on me, I swear to God I will put you in a cell for the rest of your life!” But my threats only seemed to fuel him. He chuckled, a low, guttural sound. “God, you’ve got fire. Way sexier than your sister.” He took a heavy step forward. “Go ahead, call the cops. But I’ll get what I want first. Besides, with Bethany around, do you really think she’ll let you press charges?” Cold horror washed over me, draining the strength from my legs. I slipped to the floor, my hands scraping against the carpet as I scrambled backward, watching him close the distance.
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