My brother worked part-time for years, saving every dollar for his graduation car. Our stepdad stole the money in one move and crushed his dreams. We were shattered.
But just when our stepdad thought he’d gotten away with it, karma came knocking.
I’m Hazel. I’m 20 years old. And if you’d told me six months ago that my brother would walk into his graduation party without the car he spent two years saving for, I would’ve laughed and told you, “Not a chance.
He earned that thing.”
But people like our stepdad don’t think in terms of “earned.” They think in terms of what can be taken without consequences.
Scott and I aren’t just siblings. We’re best friends.
“You’re my favorite person in the whole world, Hazel,” he told me just last month, sprawled across my bedroom floor after another brutal day at his part-time work.
I rolled my eyes.
“What about Marcus? Or Tyler? You guys are practically joined at the hip.”
He shook his head.
“Nah! They’re great and all, but you actually get me. You see through all the fake stuff.”
That’s the thing about Scott and me.
We’ve learned to see through fake stuff, especially when it comes to Steve, our stepfather.
When our parents split, it was the two of us who kept the house from going completely cold.
When Mom married Steve barely six months after the divorce papers were signed, we were already side-eyeing the timeline. Scott said she was cheating.
“I’m not saying I know for sure,” he said one evening.
“But the timeline doesn’t add up, Hazel. It just doesn’t.”
I couldn’t argue with that logic. The whole thing felt wrong from day one.
“Maybe we’re overthinking it,” I said.
“Let’s just get over it.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Let’s just focus on our lives,” Scott said, sighing.
He had been saving for a car since junior year. Every penny from his part-time job at the grocery store went straight into his car fund.
I’d watch him count those crumpled bills night after night, his eyes bright with hope.
“I’m almost there,” he’d say, smoothing out twenties and tens. “I just need a little help to get over the finish line.”
When he finally worked up the courage to ask Mom and Steve for help, they shot him down immediately.
“We’re not a bank, Scott,” Steve snapped, not even looking up from his phone. “You want a car?
Earn it.”
“I’ve been earning it!” Scott’s voice cracked. “I’m asking for 10 percent. That’s it.
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