Leslie had not checked her phone and didn’t reply right away.

I panicked and reached out to Aunt Mary, asking for my phone so I could call Leslie.

Holding my phone just out of reach, Aunt Mary walked up to me, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

"So, do you admit you were wrong? If you apologize properly—to me and Ben—I’ll give it back."

"He was the one who messed up! Why should I apologize? Being young doesn’t give him a free pass!" I blurted out.

She let out a mocking laugh, her eyes widening like saucers.

"You sure have a big temper for someone with so little! A useless girl earning a measly sum a month—what right do you have to raise your voice at me? My daughter makes so much more as a top designer!"

Then, as if on cue, she turned her attack on my mom. "Honestly, I never expected you to be such a failure, raising a daughter who’s both incompetent and rude. What a disgrace!"

My mom’s face darkened with anger. "Say whatever you want about me, but don’t insult Allison. She did nothing wrong! You’d do well to watch your mouth."

Aunt Mary sneered. "Why should I? It’s just the truth! Your family is pathetic, isn’t it? Am I wrong?

“You couldn’t even give birth to a son to continue your legacy. And the daughter you raised? She can’t even make real money! She hasn’t got the talent. Tell me, which part am I wrong about?"

She crossed her arms, looking smug. "Unlike you, I raised a daughter who’s a high-earning designer. And I have a son to carry on the family name! My future is set!"

"Enough!" My dad’s voice thundered as he finally lost his temper.

At that moment, Aunt Stella and her husband, Peter Frye who had been silent the whole time, got up and tried to smooth things over.

They held my dad back.

"It’s the new year, let’s not fight," Aunt Stella pleaded.

"Kids make trouble—it’s nothing serious. And you all know how Mary is—she’s just blunt. Don’t take it to heart."

Here we go again.

Every time Aunt Mary humiliated my parents, Aunt Stella always took her side, leaving us to silently swallow our grievances.

Just then a realization hit me—I had been an accomplice in letting my parents suffer.

With that thought, my urgency vanished.

I shrugged, spreading my hands. "If you like the phone so much, keep it. I’m done with this."

Then, I shut down my laptop.

It was a new year—why wasn’t I just enjoying my time, playing cards, and eating a hearty meal?

Why was I bending over backward for something that only brought me frustration and humiliation?

Aunt Mary hadn’t expected my reaction.

It was like throwing a punch into the wind—no resistance, just an empty, unsatisfying impact.

She tilted her head back and yelled, "You think I actually care about your lousy phone? Leslie has money—if I want a phone, I can buy one anytime! I only took yours to help your parents teach you some basic manners!"

Then, as if proving a point, she pulled out her phone and flashed the screen at me.

"Look at this—Leslie’s year-end bonus to me. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars! And you? How much do you have? A few thousand at best?"

Smirking, she turned my phone back on. "Let’s see how much you have in your bank balance. I bet it’s not even three hundred dollars."

The phone lit up, and the first thing that popped up was a message from Leslie:

[Allison, what’s going on? My boss just announced the final decision in the group chat, and my proposal wasn’t even considered!]