John and Mary were old-fashioned to the core. Everyone in their neighborhood knew that. They had strong, traditional beliefs, and one of the biggest was that boys were more valuable than girls. They had two children: a son named Junior and a daughter named Lydia. Junior was the youngest, but he was the apple of their eye. They showered him with attention, gifts, and praise. Lydia, on the other hand, was treated more like a servant than a daughter. She was mostly ignored—unless there was work to be done. Then,

I came home expecting a warm reunion. Instead, I walked into a room full of uneasy glances, hushed whispers, and a secret so big it made me wish I had never come back. For years, I had imagined this moment—stepping through the front door, being pulled into tight hugs, hearing laughter, and seeing happy tears. I wanted to surprise my family, to see their faces light up with joy. And I had picked the perfect timing—our annual family gathering, when everyone would be there. But the moment I entered, the

When my landlord Amanda tossed my belongings in the trash and locked me out without warning, I felt like my entire world had been ripped away. But just 24 hours later, I watched her dragging her own furniture to the curb as she faced eviction herself. That was karma. Pure, undeniable karma. Ever since I turned 18, I had a dream: to live independently. My parents begged me to stay home longer, to save money, to be smart about it. “Evie, why rush?” Mom would say, worry in her eyes.