I started the engine, the sound loud in the quiet street. Megan’s laughter still floated through the walls of the house as I pulled away. The highway stretched ahead in the dark, and the only sound inside my car was the steady hum of the engine.
My phone buzzed in the cup holder, Megan’s name flashing across the screen. I didn’t bother picking up. Whatever she had to say would be another dig, another reminder that in her eyes, I was the expendable one. I let it go to voicemail.
By the time I pulled into a rest stop, the weight of the day finally hit me. I leaned back in the seat, staring at the roof of the car. I had been through firefights in Afghanistan that rattled me less than my sister’s words at that table. That’s the difference with family. They know exactly where to hit you, and they don’t miss.
When I got back on the road, the next call came from my mom. For a second, I considered answering, but I knew how it would go. She would defend Megan, say she didn’t mean it, then slip in a gentle suggestion that maybe I should just let Megan handle things. It wasn’t worth hearing. I let that one go to voicemail, too.