My Sister’s Instagram

After being pressured into drinking until I was tipsy, I checked my phone and saw an Instagram post from my younger sister, Daphne.

The private room was clouded with cigarette smoke. My client, Mr. Wallace, a bald man, slapped me hard between the shoulder blades.

“Lina, you can really hold your liquor. A girl like you is a definite friend for life. Next time, you bet I’m bringing this deal to you first.”

I swallowed hard against the bile rising in my throat and managed to stretch my lips into a stiff, professional smile.

“That’s so kind of you, Mr. Wallace. The pleasure’s all ours.”

The contract mattered to the company. It mattered to me, too.

The project manager position had been vacant for a while. Landing this deal would significantly boost my chances.

I had practically drunk myself half to death for a meager commission and a slim shot at a promotion.

Using the restroom as my excuse, I scrambled out of that stifling private room.

I splashed icy water on my face. The cold shock temporarily cut through the alcohol and nausea.

I looked up at the woman in the mirror. Her face was as pale as a ghost.

I was only in my mid-twenties, but the spark in my eyes was gone.

All that remained was the numbness and bone-deep exhaustion from life’s relentless torture.

Out of habit, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through Instagram. The latest post was from Daphne.

[Low salary? What of it? My parents will always support me!]

Above the caption was a nine-picture grid.

My finger trembled uncontrollably as I tapped on it.

The first photo showed a ready-to-move-in apartment at Tomson Pinnacle, a high-end development in the city center.

It was the very neighborhood I had been saving up for. For years, I had scrimped and saved, dreaming of the day I could finally afford the downpayment.

Next came a brand-new property deed, followed by a screenshot of a WhatsApp chat from the “Happy Family” group.

[Honey, as long as you love the place, that’s all that matters. Just settle in and don’t stress about a thing. Mom and Dad will always be your safety net!

[If you don’t have enough money, just tell Dad! I’ll send it to you!]

The words “safety net” instantly unleashed a fury I had kept locked away for more than twenty years.

Memories of being overlooked, being sacrificed, and being taken for granted came flooding back.

I remembered last week when my mom called me.

She said anxiously, “Lina, do you have any money right now? Can you send me three hundred dollars for an emergency? Your sister has her eye on a bag and absolutely has to have it.”

Last month, my dad sighed and had a “discussion” with me.

“We’re a little short on your younger brother’s tuition for next semester. Transfer some money over now, you’re his elder sister.”

Not to mention last year, Daphne had wanted to go on a graduation trip to Civitas. She had casually asked me for 5,000 dollars.

I had just paid six months’ worth of rent. With only fifteen dollars left on my card, I had politely turned her down.

She hung up rudely on the spot, and my mom immediately called to scold me.

“Your sister rarely asks you for anything. Can’t you just help her out? We’re family. How could you be so heartless?”

What about me? I also wanted a property in Tomson Pinnacle.

Earlier, I had cautiously brought up wanting to borrow some money for a downpayment. Guess what my mum said?

“What does a girl need to buy a house for? When you get married, your husband will take care of that.

“The family’s money is being saved for your younger brother’s marriage. How could we have any left for you?”

It turned out that my family was never short of money. They just did not want to spend it on me.

It turned out that their so-called “safety net” was built on the endless draining of my resources.

I thought that if I just worked hard enough, pushed myself enough, I could eventually afford a place of my own in this cold, indifferent city.