My sister cracked my rib during a heated argument. Blood was seeping out. I reached for my phone to call the police, but Mom yanked it away, snapping, “It’s just a rib, don’t destroy her future.” Dad scoffed, calling me a drama queen. They had no clue what I’d do next…

Vanessa was 25, unemployed, angry, and apparently above the law, because she was the golden child. When I told them I thought my rib was broken, mom laughed and said, It’s probably just bruised. Take a Tylenol and stop ruining the evening.

I lay on my bed that night, wheezing with every breath, holding my phone. I wanted to call for help, but I didn’t have health insurance thanks to being cut off at 18. I didn’t have savings either because every cent I made had been borrowed, or rather stolen, by mom for groceries that always magically turned into Vanessa’s eyelash extensions or weekend benders.

The next morning, I woke up to find Vanessa in the kitchen again, humming. No apology, no guilt. She actually smirked when she saw me wince.

You always bruise like a peach, she chuckled, sipping orange juice I bought. I wanted to scream. I wanted to break something in return, but I did neither.

Instead, I sat quietly. I planned. Because I remembered something important.

Vanessa had put me down my whole life. Stolen friends, stolen birthday money, even told a college boyfriend I cheated just so she could have him. But now, she had something to lose, a future she was desperately trying to build, and I had something better.

Proof. I limped to the bathroom, locked the door, and lifted my shirt. The bruising was already dark, yellow around the edges, red and purple in the center.

I recorded everything, the bruises, the swelling, the way I gasped when I moved. I recorded mom’s voice from the night before too. Don’t call the cops, it’ll ruin her job hunt.

I made backup files, emailed them to myself. I didn’t know what I’d do with them yet, but something in me had snapped just like that rib. I wasn’t going to protect her anymore.

I wasn’t going to keep quiet while they used me as the family punching bag, both literally and emotionally. They’d spent years building this narrative. Vanessa, the beautiful, misunderstood girl just trying to get her life together…