I pulled into my parents’ driveway around six in the evening, carefully balancing the wrapped portrait in my arms. The thing was huge and awkward to carry, but I didn’t care. I had spent almost six months working on it, and I knew Mom would love it.
My name is Kelly, and I’m thirty years old. I work as an accountant at a midsized firm downtown. Nothing fancy, but it pays well enough. I’ve always lived a pretty normal life, growing up here in this house with my parents and my younger sister, Judith. She is twenty-four now, six years younger than me. We were close as kids, but things changed as we got older.
Mom was turning fifty-five, and Dad had organized this whole party for her. The house was already buzzing with people when I walked in. I headed straight to the hallway where they had set up a gift table. There were already a bunch of presents there, all wrapped in shiny paper with bows. I carefully placed my gift among them. The frame was heavy, a real baguette frame that cost me almost three hundred dollars alone. But it was worth it.
I had taken art classes for over a year. Drawing had always been my thing, ever since I was a kid. But recently, I’d decided to get serious about it. The portrait I painted for Mom was my biggest project yet. I used her wedding photo as the reference, wanting to capture that moment for her. I worked on every detail: the way her hair fell over her shoulders, the smile on her face, the light in her eyes. When I finally finished, I knew it was good.
I walked into the living room and immediately got swept up in the party. Mom was in the center of it all, wearing a blue dress and looking happy. She hugged me tight. Dad came over too, a quiet man who lets Mom do most of the talking.
Judith showed up about ten minutes after me. She made a big entrance, loud and dramatic as always, in a tight red dress and heels that were way too high for a family party. Her fiancé, Mark, was with her, looking uncomfortable in an expensive suit.
“Mom, happy birthday!” Judith squealed and rushed over to hug her. Everyone turned to look. That’s how Judith operates; she needs to be the center of attention. I watched as she handed Mom a small, wrapped box. Probably jewelry. Judith never put much thought into gifts; she just bought whatever was expensive and called it a day.
Judith had always been the golden child. Always. She failed half her classes in high school, and they just hired tutors. She wrecked Dad’s car, and he bought her a new one a month later. When it came time for college, they said they couldn’t afford to pay for both of us, so I took out loans. I paid them off myself over five years. But for Judith, they paid every cent of her tuition at a private university. After college, she decided she was looking for a job in marketing. For six months, she found nothing, so guess who paid her downtown apartment rent? Me, Mom, and Dad. We split it three ways. I paid six hundred dollars a month so my sister could live in a nice apartment while she “figured things out.”
I had been at the party for maybe thirty minutes, talking to some cousins, when I heard it. A loud crash from the hallway. It was the kind of sound that makes everyone stop talking and turn their heads.
My stomach dropped. I pushed through the crowd and ran to the hallway. The gift table was still there, but my present was gone. My eyes went straight to the trash can next to the table. The wrapping paper was torn and sitting on top, but my portrait was in the trash.
I rushed over and pulled it out. The frame was broken, snapped clean in half. The canvas was crumpled and torn on one side. All those months of work, all those hours, destroyed. I held it in my hands, trying to see if I could fix it. But even as I thought it, I knew. This wasn’t an accident. You don’t break a heavy frame in half by accident. You don’t crumple a canvas by accident. Someone did this on purpose.
“Oh, wow. Looks like there was an accident with your painting.”
I turned around and saw Judith standing there. She had a smirk on her face, not even trying to hide it. Her arms were crossed, and she looked almost amused.
“What?” I stared at her. “An accident? This frame is broken in half. The canvas is torn. How does that happen by accident?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it fell weird. Why are you yelling at me?”
“Because you did this! You ruined my gift!”
“Oh my God, Kelly, calm down. It’s just a painting. You’re being so dramatic right now.”
My hands were shaking. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. She wasn’t even denying it; she was grinning like this was some kind of joke.
Mom came over then, with Dad right behind her. “What’s going on here? Why is everyone shouting?”
“Mom, look at this!” I held up the broken frame and torn canvas. “Look at what Judith did to my gift!”
Mom glanced at it quickly, then looked at Judith. “What happened, honey?”
“It was an accident, Mom. I don’t know why Kelly is freaking out like this.”
“Kelly, calm down,” Mom said, putting her hand on my arm. “Nothing terrible happened. It’s just a painting. Don’t criticize your sister like that.”
I stared at her. Just a painting. “Mom, I spent six months working on this. I took art classes. I painted this for you.”
Dad stepped in. “Kelly, it’s really not that big of a deal. You can always paint another one. You’re making a scene.”
I looked at both of them, then at Judith, who was still smirking. Mom didn’t even glance at the portrait again. She just turned around and walked back to her guests. That’s when it hit me. They didn’t care. Not about the gift, not about the work I put into it. Not about me.
I wasn’t welcome here. Not really. I grabbed the broken painting and walked straight to the front door. Nobody tried to stop me. Nobody called my name.
When I got to my apartment, I sat on the couch and just stared at it for a while. Then I started crying.
I was done crying. I was done being the person they took for granted. My phone buzzed. It was a reminder from a restaurant app. I opened it and read the message: Reminder: Final payment for venue rental due in 3 days. Current balance: $1,500.
The engagement party. I had completely forgotten. Two weeks ago, Judith had called me in a panic. She’d found the perfect restaurant, but it was expensive. So, she asked me if I could help. Like an idiot, I said yes. I put down three thousand dollars total. Fifteen hundred had already been charged to my card, and the other half was due in a few days.
I stared at that reminder for a long time. Then, I opened the restaurant’s website and found their customer service number. A woman answered on the third ring.
“Giovanni’s Restaurant. This is Amanda speaking.”
“Hi, I need to cancel a reservation. It’s for an engagement party.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Can I have the name on the reservation?”
“Judith Brennan. The party is in two weeks.”
I heard typing. “Yes, I see it here. Let me process the cancellation for you. Just so you know, there is a five-hundred-dollar administrative fee. You paid fifteen hundred so far, so we’ll refund you one thousand dollars.”
“Thank you,” I said, and hung up. I felt lighter somehow, like I’d just put down something heavy I’d been carrying for years.
The next day, I was at work when my phone started ringing. It was Judith. I let it go to voicemail. She called again. And again. On the fourth call, I answered.
“What?”
“Kelly, what the hell did you do? The restaurant called me! They said you canceled my engagement party! Are you out of your mind? Do you know how hard it was to find a place? Everything is booked!”
“Not my problem, Judith.”
“Not your problem? Kelly, you’re being so greedy and vindictive! This is my engagement party! You need to call them back and give it back to me!”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have destroyed my painting.”
She started crying—actual crying, with sobs and everything. “Kelly, please. I’m sorry about the painting, okay? I’m sorry! But you can’t do this to me! The engagement is in two weeks, and I have nowhere to have the party now!”
“I told you, it’s not my problem anymore. And by the way, I’m not helping with the wedding, either. Figure it out yourself.”
I hung up and immediately blocked her number. My hands were shaking, but I felt good. About an hour later, my desk phone rang. It was Mom.
“Kelly Marie Brennan, what on earth is wrong with you? Judith just called me crying her eyes out! She said you canceled her engagement party. Why would you do something so cruel? She’s your sister!”
“She destroyed my painting, Mom. The one I spent six months working on for you. And you didn’t even care.”
“That was an accident, Kelly. Stop being so dramatic about it.”
“It wasn’t an accident. And you know what the worst part was? You didn’t even look at it. You didn’t care at all.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. It was just a painting, Kelly. An amateur drawing. There was no real value in it.”
Those words hit me like a punch. Just a painting. No real value.
“You know what, Mom? I finally get it. You only care about me when I’m giving you money. That’s all I am to this family. A wallet.”
“That’s not true and you know it! Now call that restaurant back and—”
I hung up on her. My desk phone rang again immediately, but I didn’t answer. My cell phone started buzzing too. It was Dad this time. I declined the call. For the rest of the day, my phone wouldn’t stop. Calls, texts, voicemails, all saying the same things: I was selfish, cruel, and ruining Judith’s special day. I ignored every single one.
That evening, I was making dinner when I checked Instagram. Judith had posted a video, crying into the camera. “My sister is trying to ruin my engagement out of jealousy,” she sobbed. “She canceled my party venue two weeks before the date because she’s bitter about her own life.”
The comments poured in. OMG, that’s so terrible. Your sister sounds toxic. Not one of her rich friends offered to host the party at their place. Just sympathy and likes.
Then Mom sent one final text: If you don’t give Judith back that restaurant reservation, don’t bother coming to the wedding. You won’t be invited.
I read it twice, then put my phone down. After what happened at that party, I didn’t want to go anyway.
Two weeks went by in blissful silence. I focused on work and my art classes. I even started restoring Mom’s portrait. The frame was beyond saving, but the canvas could be fixed. Slowly, it started looking good again.
On a Saturday afternoon, I was scrolling through social media when I saw it: Judith’s engagement party photos. There were only two. In them, she and Mark were standing in my parents’ backyard with some balloons and a table of food. It looked pretty basic. The caption read, “Due to circumstances beyond our control, we had to have a more intimate celebration at home. Sometimes the best parties are the simple ones!”
I actually laughed out loud. The circumstance was that I didn’t give her the money for it.
Another week passed. I had just gotten home from work when someone knocked on my door. It was Mom.
“We need to talk, Kelly.” I stepped aside and let her in. “You’ve gone too far,” she said, her arms crossed. “Your father and I have decided that if you don’t come to your senses, we’re going to disown you.”
“I understand.”
“Good. So, you’ll apologize to Judith and—” She stopped talking. Her eyes had landed on something behind me. The portrait. I had finished restoring it and hung it on my wall.
Mom walked over to it slowly. She stood there for a long time, just staring. Then she started crying—not the dramatic sobs Judith does, but quiet tears running down her face.
“Kelly, this is gorgeous,” she whispered. “I had no idea. I didn’t know you could paint something this beautiful. Is this… from my wedding photo?”
“Yes.”
Mom walked over and hugged me. I stood there stiffly, not hugging her back. “I’m so sorry, Kelly,” she said, pulling back. “I didn’t realize how much work you put into it. Your father and I have been so unfair to you. We’ve always treated you and Judith differently, and that wasn’t right.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“I want to fix this,” she said, her voice earnest. “We’ll start family therapy. We need to figure out why we’ve been treating you this way.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded.
Two weeks later, Dad called. He and Mom had been going to therapy twice a week. “Judith won’t come,” he said. “She’s still mad about the engagement party.” He sighed. “Kelly, I just want you to know that I’m proud of you. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that enough.”
That actually caught me off guard. “Thanks, Dad.”
A month went by. I had dinner with my parents once. It was awkward, but okay. Then one day, Judith called from an unknown number.
“Mom and Dad are ruining my life!” she shrieked. “Ever since they started that stupid therapy, they’ve completely changed! They said they’re not paying for my wedding anymore! They promised!”
“Good for them.”
“Good for them? Kelly, they’re doing this because of you! You turned them against me!”
“I didn’t do anything,” I said calmly. “They finally realized that both their daughters should be treated equally. You’re not the golden child anymore, Judith. Deal with it.”
I hung up. A few days later, Dad told me Judith had a huge fight with Mark, too. She wanted him to pay for the entire expensive wedding himself, and he refused. About a week after that, Mark actually called me.
“Hey, Kelly. Judith and I are taking a break,” he said, his voice heavy. “She cares more about money than anything else right now. I just wanted you to know… I get why you did what you did. I think you were right.”
Over the next few months, things got better with my parents. I started visiting them more often. They actually listened when I talked, asking about my art classes with genuine interest. One day, Mom called with news.
“Kelly, I thought you should know. Judith and Mark moved to another state. They left last week for Colorado. He told her she had to choose between him and her obsession with money. She chose him.”
“Wow. I didn’t see that coming.”
“Neither did we. They got married in Las Vegas on their way there. Just the two of them.”
After we hung up, I went to Judith’s Instagram. Sure enough, there was a photo of her and Mark in front of some Vegas chapel. They both looked happy. The caption said, “Spontaneous Vegas wedding. One of the best adventures of my life.”
I stared at that photo for a while. Part of me was still angry, but another part wondered if maybe she was actually growing up. When I got home, I pulled out my art supplies, saved the photo to my phone, and started sketching. It took me three weeks to finish the portrait of them in that Vegas chapel. I tried to capture the genuine happiness on their faces.
I got Judith’s new address from Mom, carefully packaged the painting, and shipped it to Colorado. I didn’t include a note.
A week later, I got a notification on my phone. Judith had posted something new on Instagram: a photo of her in her living room, and behind her on the wall was the portrait I had painted. The caption read, “Just received the most incredible wedding gift from my sister. This is the best present anyone has ever given me. Thank you, Kelly.”
That evening, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. It was Judith.
Kelly, I don’t even know what to say. The portrait is beautiful. I cried when I opened it. I’m so sorry for everything I did. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I hope someday we can talk. I miss you. Love, Judith.
I read the text several times. I didn’t respond. I wasn’t ready. But I saved her number in my phone. Maybe in a few months, I’d reach out.
For now, I had my art classes. I had my parents back in my life in a real way. I had my apartment with Mom’s portrait hanging on the wall, a constant reminder that my work, and I, had value. I had spent so many years being the responsible one, the one who gave and never received. I was done being anyone’s wallet.
I looked at her text one more time, then set my phone aside. I pulled out my sketchbook and started working on a new piece. This one was just for me.
