Chapter Three: Raised to Raise Her

Some mothers kiss you awake with love.

Mine woke me by smashing a vase against the wall.

The crash wasn’t even the worst part. It was the silence that followed. It was the kind of silence that didn’t last. The kind that warned you something ugly was coming.

Again.

I shoved the blanket off and jumped out of bed. Jesse had beaten me to the hallway, barefoot, scared. His T-shirt was wrinkled, hair flattened on one side like he’d just come out of a dream and straight into a nightmare.

We didn’t speak.

We’d been here too many times before.

We padded across the cracked tiles to the living room where she was, sprawled across the floor, surrounded by broken glass and vodka. Her hair was a tangled mess, makeup smeared like she’d cried halfway through getting ready and gave up.

The remote lay in pieces beside the broken vase.

“Not again,” Jesse whispered, but I could hear the tremble in it.

She didn’t look at us. Just sat there, swaying. Talking to people that weren’t there.

I gently pulled Jesse away. Back to my room.

We sat on the bed together, facing the same blank wall.

And that’s when the ache started pressing against my ribs.

People like her shouldn’t have kids.

That’s the truth no one ever says out loud, right? That some people, no matter how much the world romanticizes “brokenness” should never have brought another life into the mess they never cleaned up.

Because they don’t raise kids.

They birth burdens.

And I was her first.

I was her caretaker before I could tie my shoes. I was the girl filling out school forms for herself. Teaching Jesse how to hold a pencil. Cleaning up her vomit, rationing the grocery money, waiting for her to come home from benders.

She had me, not to raise me, but to lean on me. Like I was the parent she’d always wanted.

And our dad? Same story, different flavor of abandonment.

He wasn’t an alcoholic. He was just... gone. Took his mouth, his fists, and whatever was left of our innocence and disappeared into the world like we never happened.

Good riddance.

One less mouth to feed.

One less person for me to watch fail.

I helped Jesse get dressed for school like I always did. Fixed his collar. Found his lunch. Faked a smile.

“You sure you’re not coming today?” he asked, watching me as I packed his bag.

I shook my head. “Nah. I’m staying back. I don’t trust her alone right now.”

He nodded, didn’t push. He never did.

He left.

I stayed.

Not because I wanted to. Because I had to.

I locked the windows. Moved the knives. Hid what I could. Then I sat on the couch with earbuds in my ears, half-listening to my favorite true crime podcast. Something about murder felt lighter than my life.

She passed out by evening. Still breathing. A win.

---

Jesse came home around six.

Dinner was left over rice and fried eggs. I wasn’t about to pretend I had the energy for anything more. After we ate, I sat at the table, scrolling my phone. He worked on homework beside me, pencil tapping. Tap, tap, tap.

I glanced at him.

“Okay, what’s on your mind?”

He didn’t answer.

I gave him the side-eye. “Spill it, little bro.”

“I’m thirteen,” he muttered. “Stop calling me that.”

“You’ll be fifty and still my little bro. Deal with it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

I smirked. “So, come on. What is it?”

He hesitated. “It’s about… that girl.”

“The class rep?”

He nodded.

I leaned in. “Did something happen?”

“No. I just… I don’t know. She smiled at me today. Like, really smiled. And I…”

“Oh my God,” I gasped, hand to my heart. “My baby brother has a crush. Somebody call the press!”

“Shut up,” he groaned.

“Wait! This calls for The Talk!”

“Don’t start!”

“Too late. If you get a girl pregnant, I swear…”

“...I’ll ruin my life and hers. Use protection. Think with my brain, not my pants,” he deadpanned in my voice.

A smirk tugged at my lips. “Wow. You’ve memorized the whole sermon.”

“By force.”

We both laughed, and for a second, the air felt less suffocating.

He sat back, quieter now. “It’s just a crush. She’s not even in my league.”

My smile dropped.

I stood up, walked around to him, and dramatically squinted at his face. “Do you see those eyelashes? That nose? That symmetry? Boy, you are fine.”

“Stoppp,” he groaned, trying not to laugh.

I squished his cheeks with both hands. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re not the full package, babyface.”

He batted my hands away, cheeks pink. “You’re insane.”

“I’m observant. And let’s not even start on your personality. You’re the kindest, smartest person I know. That alone puts you in every league.”

He stared at me.

“You always know the right things to say.”

I shrugged. “I’m the main character, Jesse. It’s in the script.”

He chuckled, looking back at his notebook. I sat down, half-smiling.

Then my phone buzzed.

Unknown number:

Hey. Thought you might wanna watch your new friend play up close. VIP passes. Courtside. Try not to fall in love with the view.

Attached was a photo.

Two digital tickets. Black background. Gold letters. 

Cade Reeve.

I stared at the screen for a long time. My thoughts were loud, chaotic.

Then, with a smile curling at the edge of my lips, I whispered, “First thing tomorrow, I’m asking Romi if you can sell VIP tickets.”

Because rent doesn’t pay itself.

And a girl’s gotta be smart.