Zachery didn't have to lift a finger and he got the other half of Mom's love, plus all of Dad's. A complete, unbroken share from each parent.
How was that fair?
Mom poured me a glass of water and held it out, trying to calm me down.
I drained the whole thing. The fire in my throat eased, but only a little.
That was when Zachery and Dad walked through the door.
One look at Zachery—polished, well-dressed, not a care in the world—and the rage I'd just swallowed came roaring back.
I slammed the glass down on the table so hard the sound cracked through the room, then grabbed Zachery by the arm and dragged him in front of Mom.
"He's right here. Go ahead. Ask him if he'd be willing to take your last name."
Zachery had no idea what was going on, but he shook his head. Honest, at least.
I let out a cold laugh.
"How much do you make, Mom? How much does Dad make? We live under the same roof. Look at the life I've been living. Now look at his."