The Fortune Teller Said I Was Bad Luck, I Brought Them Worse Chapter 11

The Fortune Teller Said I Was Bad Luck, I Brought Them Worse Chapter 11

By the time I drove back to my neighborhood, darkness had fallen. Streetlights flickered, casting shifting shadows across the car windows.

Familiar cars were parked downstairs: Aunt’s, Uncle’s, Gavin’s.

I’d known this moment would come.

I parked, grabbed my bag, and rode the elevator up. Each floor lit up in turn, my pulse racing faster with every one.

At the apartment door, I took a deep breath and fished out my keys.

When I opened the door, the living room was brightly lit. The couch was full: Mom, Dad, Gavin, Aunt, Uncle, a few elders. All eyes on me, expressions varying.

Mom’s eyes were swollen from crying. Dad’s face was ashen, fingers holding a cigarette, ashtray overflowing. Gavin sat in the corner, head down.

“So you finally decided to come back?” Dad’s voice trembled with anger.

I said nothing. Closed the door, changed my shoes, hung my bag.

“Isabella, where did you go? Why was your phone off? Don’t you know what day it is…” Mom began, then fell silent, wiping tears.

“I know,” I said, walking to the only empty chair and sitting down. “I know today is Gavin’s wedding. I also know, because I didn’t attend, the wedding was canceled.”

“How dare you say that!” Dad slammed the coffee table, sending cups flying and water spilling everywhere.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?! You’ve humiliated your brother! You’ve humiliated the whole family!”

“Everyone was watching. Lily’s family is threatening to call off the wedding and demand compensation! Are you satisfied?!”

I looked at him, the man I’ve called Dad for thirty years.

“Dad, this morning Gavin called me. He said his mother-in-law thought I was bad luck for the wedding, told me not to go. Did you know that?”

Dad hesitated, blinking. “It’s just something their family believes in. You should’ve tried to understand.”

“Yes,” I said. “so I didn’t go.”

“But you can’t…”

“Can’t what?” I interrupted. “Can’t stop paying? Can’t stop being a doormat?”

“Dad, the wedding cost $54,000, I paid it all. The down payment on Gavin’s apartment, $28,000, I paid it. Half of his college expenses? I paid. His car, his job search, his relationship, what haven’t I contributed?”

Silence fell in the living room. Aunt and Uncle exchanged looks. Mom cried harder. Gavin kept his head down.

“Yes, you’re the sister. What’s wrong with helping your own brother?” Dad’s voice softened but still argued. “Family is supposed to support each other.”

“Then who supports me?” I asked. “I’m twenty-eight, no house, no car, no savings. Until today, all my money went to this family, to Gavin. Who helps me?”

“You…” Dad opened his mouth, no words came.

“Dad, Mom, I’m your child too,” my voice trembled but I held on. “I’m a person. I get tired. I feel hurt. I want someone to care for me, love me, pay attention to my feelings.”

Mom blinked through tears. “Isabella, I care about you…”

“Care about me?” I laughed, tears streaming. “So this morning you told me to endure it? So knowing how Gavin treated me, you told me not to mind? So now you sit here, questioning why I embarrassed you instead of asking if I’m hurt?”

Mom froze, tears sliding down her cheeks.

“Isabella…” Gavin finally lifted his head, eyes red. “I’m sorry, I…”

“Don’t call me like that.” I looked at him. “Gavin, from today, I am not your sister.”

“Isabella!” Aunt couldn’t help but speak. “You can’t say that, blood is thicker than water…”

“Blood is thicker than water?” I turned to her. “Aunt, your son bought a house last year, you gave him your retirement money. And then?”

“He didn’t visit you for six months, and when you were hospitalized, I stayed at your side while your son posted vacation photos online.”

“Blood is thicker than water? Water flows downward; where does blood flow?”

Aunt’s face went pale, lips trembling, words failing.

“Today, I make this clear,” I stood, facing this room full of so-called family. “The house, car, wedding expenses, I will have them all accounted for with Gavin through a lawyer. Every penny I spent on him over the years must be acknowledged. As for you…”

I looked at Mom and Dad. “You raised me for thirty years; I’m grateful. But from now on, I’ll send you money every month. That’s it. Your son? You raise him yourselves.”

“And the wedding,” I finally said to Gavin. “If you want to get married, figure it out yourself. Don’t ask me for another cent.”

I turned and walked to my room.

“Isabella! You can’t do this!” Mom chased after me, grabbing my arm. “He’s your brother! You have only one brother!”

I stopped, didn’t look back.

“Mom, I’m your daughter too,” I said. “You have only one daughter.”

I shook off her hand, went inside, and locked the door.

Outside came crying, shouting, pounding on the door.

These were my family. We shared the same blood, the same history, the same last name.

But they were no longer my family.

From today on, I am no one’s sister, no one’s daughter.

I am Isabella Morgan.

I am myself.