Money fights scarred my childhood, so at 22, I’m cautious, studying at college and living at home. I got a credit card to build my credit, but my brother and his wife stole it, breaking my trust. I pay rent and bills, saving for a car. After researching, I chose a student credit card, using it twice—textbooks and groceries—paying it off quickly. It stayed in my wallet, a small step toward my dreams.
I told Dad, avoiding Mom’s gossip. “It’s not free money,” he said. Mom overheard, pressing for details. I sidestepped, but my brother, Luke, texted, “Can we borrow your credit card? Ours are done.” Luke, 28, and his wife, Amy, are reckless, always jobless and entitled. I refused, saying I’d owe the debt. He called me selfish, citing childhood “favors.” I ignored it, but sensed trouble.
Luke and Amy showed up, demanding my card. “Family shares,” Amy said. I said no, but Mom walked in, siding with them. I stood firm, and Dad ordered them out. Mom left too, guilt-tripping me. Days later, my card was gone, left on the counter during their visit. The bank listed charges: $200 for electronics, $100 for gas, pizza. I froze the account, reported it stolen, and told Dad. “They’ll pay,” he said.
The next day, Amy called from the police station, urging me to say they had permission. An officer asked if I’d authorized it. I saw Luke’s arrogance, Amy’s demands, thinking they could bully me. “No, it was stolen,” I said. They screamed about family, but I said, “Family doesn’t steal.” They’d tried the card again, triggering a security alert. Police detained them. I didn’t press charges, but they faced fraud marks. Mom returned, subdued, making my favorite meals. Luke and Amy never apologized, but they’ve stayed clear. I learned to protect myself, and my new card is a symbol of my resilience.
