Chapter 1

I started working at fifteen to support my family. I paid for my brother's tuition, covered my parents' medical insurance, and handled the mortgage back in our hometown.

When I turned twenty-eight, my parents called to say my brother was getting married. The bride's family demanded a house paid in full and a car worth at least thirty thousand dollars. They expected me to pay for it all.

I told them I only had six hundred dollars left in my account after paying my rent. My mom was silent for three seconds before she spoke.

"Go borrow it. Ask your boss for an advance. If you have to, take out a high-interest loan. Your brother's future is more important than anything else."

In that moment, I realized they never saw me as their daughter. I was just a human ATM for my brother. From today on, I am returning this family. For the rest of my life, I only live for myself.

1

The kitchen exhaust fan was roaring, and my phone was vibrating just as loud. I wiped my sweaty hands on my apron and checked the screen.

Fifteen missed calls, all from Mom. Before I could even think about calling back, a voice note blasted through.

"Rainey Collins! Your brother found a girlfriend! The girl said she won't marry him without a house paid in full. You're his sister, so start scraping the money together. The house, the renovations, and a car―it'll be about a hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

I held the phone to my ear while grease from the kitchen dripped down my fingers.

"Mom, I only make fifteen dollars an hour. I just paid rent. I only have―"

"Then go borrow it! Get an advance from your job! Do you really care this little about your brother's future?"

I closed my eyes as the heat from the stove hit my face in waves. My name is Rainey Collins. I've been working in kitchens since I was fifteen. I'm twenty-eight now.

I paid for Zack's college. I carried the mortgage back home. I kept my parents' insurance active. In all these years, I never bought myself a dress over twenty dollars or took a single vacation.

I thought if I gave enough, I'd eventually hear them say, "Rainey, thank you." But I got nothing. I was never a daughter; I was just a cash machine that breathed.

After my shift, I rode my electric scooter home and texted Zack. "You're getting married?"

He replied instantly with a minute-long voice note. The gist was simple: "Rainey, get me that money. Ruby's dad owns a factory, and I can't look poor in front of them. Also, keep paying for that apartment―I need to save my own money for Ruby."

I didn't reply. My scooter hit a pothole, and the jolt rattled my bones. That house―the one in my name―was paid for with the sweat and blood of my youth.

When I walked into the house, my dad was sitting on the sofa, smoking. He didn't even look up. "Is the money ready? The girl's family wants to see the deed."

My mom was next to him, counting on her fingers. "Rainey, I've got it figured out. Take your savings, get a bank loan, and borrow from your friends. That should cover it. You're going to get married eventually and leave this family anyway. Consider this your last favor to your brother."

I stood by the door, holding a bag of leftover food from the diner. The bag had a hole, and grease was dripping onto the floor.

"The last time?" I dropped the bag, my voice sounding completely cold.

"Since I was fifteen, when haven't you said that? The last time for tuition, the last time for the mortgage, the last time to help Zack. For thirteen years, I've heard those words twenty-six times."

I turned to my father. "I'm twenty-eight. Other people my age are dating, traveling, and seeing the world. I spend my life making burgers and pinching pennies to pay for Zack's lifestyle."

"Have you ever asked if I'm tired? Or if my work is hard? All you talk about is Zack. Am I even your child?"

My dad crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. He didn't answer me. Instead, he looked at my mom. "See? This is what happens when you raise a daughter. They all turn out ungrateful."

I laughed. I actually laughed.

I didn't sleep that night. I went back to my tiny rented room, pulled the curtains shut, and wrote down every cent I had ever sent them. It took sixteen pages.

On the very last page, I drew a thick black line. I wrote: "Rainey Collins is done paying. It ends now."

The next morning, I called Zack. "I'm not helping with the wedding."

He exploded. "Then what am I supposed to do? Are you even my sister?"

I hung up. Five minutes later, he texted: "If you don't help, I'm never speaking to you again."

I replied with one word: "Good."