“Help?” I repeated, incredulous. “You want me to give away my home and everything I’ve achieved. That’s not help; that’s theft.”
Sabrina’s expression hardened, the façade of the doting sister slipping away. “You always have to be so selfish, don’t you? It’s always about you.”
“No,” I replied, a calm settling over me. “It’s always been about you, Sabrina. And I’ve had enough.”
The silence that followed was oppressive, the tension palpable. Then, in a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, Sabrina’s hand flew across my face, the sharp sting echoing through the room. Gasps rose around us, but then, inexplicably, laughter bubbled up, a twisted symphony of schadenfreude that filled the air.
