I Sold Their Home For My Birthday
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Summary
It was New Year’s Eve—my thirtieth birthday, actually—and I was struck three times by my own brother, Brad Davis.
He stood over me, chest puffed out, spitting the words like venom. “This is my house, Jen. You don’t get to come in here and run your mouth like some outsider.”
“You toxic waste of space. Get out, or I’ll hit you again!”
He seemed to forget that this apartment was the one I’d bought for our mother’s retirement.
He forgot his wife, Tiffany, was still wearing the gold bracelet I'd bought for Mom just last month.
