The same day I won the lottery, my sister showed up crying, and my mom landed in the hospital. By dinner, I realized none of it was a coincidence—and someone was playing me.
No surprises, no drama. Just steady, honest days. My daughter was my whole world. Every choice I made was for her.
Now? I don’t even remember his last name. That’s how far I’ve come.
I built my life piece by piece. I worked my way up from receptionist to office manager. I took night classes, skipped vacations, bought my apartment with no co-signer, and paid off my car in full.
My dad—God rest him—used to say,
“Earn everything yourself. Never wait for luck or a man.”
I took that advice seriously. Still do.
Jasmine, though? My younger sister?
She was made of glitter and clouds. Always smiling, always floating. If life was a storm, she found a yacht to ride it out on—usually one with a boyfriend. Her Instagram was a highlight reel of palm trees, poolside selfies, and flirty captions.
“Living my best life 
” one post read.
“Relax, Audrey,” she used to say, tossing her curls over one shoulder. “You’re so obsessed with planning. When will you just live?”
I wanted to say,
“When I can afford rent and an emergency fund at the same time.”
But I didn’t. No point. Jasmine lived in a world where things just worked out… until they didn’t.
She crashed hard when the boyfriends disappeared, and the bills started stacking. She entered the cheap apartment with flickering lights and a leaky ceiling. I heard her crying over the phone one night. I didn’t ask questions. I just wired her money
Even Mom, still in Dad’s old house, called me more often.
“Just a little help this month.”
I always helped. Quietly. No lectures, no judgment. Just silent support.
Then came that Friday afternoon. I was at the gas station, purse full of loose change that made noise every time I moved.
The woman in front of me was buying a lottery ticket. I shrugged and bought one, too—just to get rid of the coins.