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…

Me, the burden, the overreactor, the drama queen. Not anymore. Not after what she did.

And not after what I was about to do next. Three days passed. I didn’t say a word to Vanessa.

I didn’t sit at the dinner table. I didn’t even flinch when mom made her daily sarcastic remarks. Still sulking, huh? Or, Vanessa has a job interview tomorrow, don’t bring your drama into it.

Every time they opened their mouths, they added fuel to a fire they had no idea was burning under their own feet. I went to the local urgent care on my own, walking with short, painful breaths. The doctor confirmed what I already suspected, a fractured rib.

He raised an eyebrow when I told him I’d fallen. But I didn’t need his pity. I just needed the documentation.

I paid with a borrowed credit card, mine, maxed out for years because of the family emergencies my mom always needed help with. When I got home, Vanessa was bragging about her upcoming job interview. It was at a well-known publishing company downtown.

They’re looking for someone fresh, someone authentic, she said, twirling her hair and smiling like she hadn’t snapped a bone in my body. I watched her. And I waited.

The night before her interview, she left her laptop open on the dining table. I saw her resume, her references. One name caught my eye.

Ms. Carmichael. Her former professor. The one I knew she had publicly cursed out on Twitter two years ago for failing her final paper.

I took a picture of the screen. I took a deep breath. Then I did what I never thought I’d do.

I made a phone call. To the company. To human resources.

And I didn’t lie. Not once. I told them who I was.

I told them what had happened. I sent the photos. I sent the voice clip of my mother saying, don’t call the cops, it’ll ruin her job hunt.

I sent the medical report. And I ended it with this. This is the kind of person you’re considering representing your brand.

I didn’t hear back right away. But I knew they’d gotten the message. The next morning, Vanessa left the house wearing a new blazer and my stolen necklace…