I rolled my eyes. My life was already this much of a disaster.

If I didn't raise hell now, what was I supposed to do? Graduate and drown in student loans?

No money meant no education. Simple as that.

I'd been researching how to take legal action against my father.

After digging into it, I figured out the path of least resistance: call the cops.

When the officers showed up at the house, I threw myself at their legs and sobbed.

"I can't survive anymore! My mom can't afford to raise me, and my dad refuses to! I'll kill myself right in front of them if I have to!"

The neighbors came flooding out to watch the spectacle. I'd turned the house into a full-blown circus.

The infuriating part? I was already eighteen. The officers told us to work it out among ourselves.

If we could've worked it out among ourselves, why would I have called the police in the first place?

All they ever did was smooth things over and send everyone home.

I'd always assumed the worst about people. They never disappointed me.

This time, though, the situation had truly exploded.

Both sets of grandparents descended on our house, along with every aunt, uncle, and distant relative who could find an excuse to show up.

My mother sat there covering her face, crying about how I was out of control, how I had no sense. Grandma Abbott hovered beside her, patting her shoulder.

Then Grandma turned and fixed me with a disapproving glare.

"This is the woman who gave birth to you. Who raised you. What kind of person turns around and spits on their own mother?"

She was pinning the label on me. Ungrateful. The girl who bit the hand that fed her.

Funny thing was, being ungrateful felt a hell of a lot better than being obedient.

I hadn't done a single chore in days. I'd been sleeping until ten every morning. You have no idea how refreshing that was.

I didn't just resent my mother. I resented my grandparents too.

"Let's talk about you two for a second," I said, turning to face them. "You're this old, and you're still going on about carrying on the Sawyer name. 'Let her take our surname, we'll raise her.' Really? Grandpa Abbott gets five hundred dollars a month from his pension. What exactly were you going to raise me with? Big talk?"

Because in all these years, I hadn't seen a single cent from either of them.

I let out a cold laugh. Grandma clutched at her chest, her face turning scarlet.

"Enough!" Zachery suddenly erupted. "You think you're the only one who's been wronged? All these years, Grandpa and Grandma called to check on you every holiday. Mom always cared more about you. They're my family too, you know!"

My mother looked at him with warm, grateful eyes.

"See, Zachery always—"

My eyes lit up. I cut her off before she could finish.

"So you want these relatives, Zachery? Great. Perfect. Starting today, you take the Sawyer name, and I'll take Gilbert. We'll both have bright futures!"

"I'll be living the good life, and you can stay home doing chores with Mom and work part-time jobs through college to support the family!"

I delivered this speech with the fervor of a campaign promise. Zachery's expression, meanwhile, crumbled inch by inch into mortified silence.

He couldn't meet our mother's eyes.

See? Nobody wanted the hard life.

When Zachery said nothing, I turned to my father.

He stiffened the moment he felt my gaze land on him.

"Dad. You and Mom have spent all these years keeping score down to the last penny. She's not really a wife to you. You're not really a husband to her. So why keep dragging this out? Just get a divorce."

He stared at me for a long, heavy moment.

"Your mother is the one who insisted on changing your surname."

He refused to bring up the original agreement. I didn't bring it up either. There was no point.

I nodded.

"Mom made a stupid decision. Fine. But even if I don't carry the Gilbert name, I'm still your daughter. She's still your wife."

"Instead, for all these years, she's been doing your housework for free, and you still won't help raise your own kid."

My mother, that hopeless pushover. Dad never gave her a dime, and she still cleaned his house. Still cooked his meals. Still dragged me along to help.

Every word I spoke dripped with resentment.

Even Zachery was squirming in his seat.

My father slammed his palm on the table.

"You took your mother's name. That means you're not my child. Your mother can't afford to raise you? That's her problem for being useless. What's it got to do with me?"

"I offered to raise you as long as you switched your name back. Your mother refused! And the housework? That's her job. I don't even charge her rent."

"You're all grown up now. Even if I gave you money, you probably wouldn't remember any kindness from me. After all, whoever raises a child is the one they love."

"You won't need me in my old age anyway, so we might as well keep things the way they are..."

In plain terms, he was done with me. He didn't want to spend a dime.

His parents didn't make a sound. They were on his side, always had been. They only invested in the kid who carried their name.

I looked at the two of them, sitting there with their combined retirement income of over eight grand a month, and I couldn't help but silently curse my maternal grandparents again.

Where did they get the nerve to claim they raised me? By feeding me air?

"You think you can just shake me off, Dad? It won't be that easy."

I hated everyone now.

I hated my mother, hated Grandpa and Grandma Abbott for being broke and still refusing to let me change my last name, letting me suffer through eighteen miserable years for nothing.

I hated my father, his parents, and my brother for watching me struggle and pretending they didn't see a thing.

I smiled at my father.

Keep things the way they are?

Dream on.

Of course I was going to latch onto the one with the deepest pockets.

A plan was already taking shape in my mind.

Summer was nearly over, and I still showed no sign of getting ready for school.

My mother panicked.

She'd thought my threat to skip college was just talk. But when the first day of classes came and I was still lying in bed scrolling through my phone, she lost it.

She burst through my door and shoved a stack of cash into my hands.

"Cassie, you worked so hard to get into college. You can't just throw that away."

"Mom, you've got money. Why don't you go to school?"

I looked down at the bills in my hands. Roughly five thousand dollars.

Funny how she was always crying poor, when really she just never had money for me.

I kept the cash. I still didn't enroll.

For one thing, accounting wasn't what I wanted to study. For another, five grand wasn't going to cover four years of tuition.

And if my mother ran out of money again down the line, I'd be right back where I started, working to pay my own way.

I'd spent all of middle school and high school juggling work and classes. I was done with that life.

My plan was to work for a couple of years, save up enough so I'd never have to beg anyone for a cent, and then go back for an adult degree program on my own terms.

There was a food street right below our apartment, lined with cafés and snack shops.

I got a job making drinks at one of the cafés.

Business was good. By the time I got home, both my arms were shaking.

My mother's eyes were swollen from crying.

"Cassie..."

I cut her off. "What are you crying about? I turned out this way because you're a pushover. You insisted I take your name but couldn't give me a decent life to go with it."

"What have you even been doing all these years?"

Whatever she'd been about to say died in her throat.

Her lips trembled. "Cassie, why can't you understand? This is your father's fault..."

I rolled my eyes three times in a row.

"No, no, no. It's my fault. My fault for feeling sorry for you. My fault for taking your side. The second Dad wanted me to change my name, I should've done it even if someone held a knife to my throat."

"What good has the Sawyer name ever done me? I haven't had a single good day since I got stuck with it!"

"I could've had the same life as my brother."

I hated my mother. I hated her so much my teeth ached from clenching.

She bought my brother thousand-dollar sneakers while I had to take out loans just to stay in school. I would hate her for that until the day I died.

Every time I looked at her, I lost control.

"Crying, crying, crying. Is that all you know how to do?"

"Pathetic."

"Making twenty-five hundred a month and thinking you could raise two kids. See if my brother even gives you the time of day."

"Take your so-called fairness and get out!"

I wasn't always like this.

I thought I'd lost my mind. Turns out, as long as I stayed away from my mother, I was perfectly normal.

So the problem was her. It had always been her.

And finally, my chance came.

My brother's birthday fell in mid-August. Dad took vacation days to bring him on a trip.

As for me deciding to skip college and work at a café instead, neither of them had any reaction whatsoever.

They treated me like I was invisible, same as always, chattering excitedly about where they'd go, what they'd buy.

I was like a rat lurking in the shadows, peering at a happiness that would never belong to me.

Before they left, my brother clapped me on the shoulder.

"Sis, don't be jealous. Not my fault my last name's Sawyer and yours isn't."

After they were gone, I stood in the living room and looked around at all the expensive, custom-furnished décor.

I smiled.