She knocked repeatedly until I opened the door.
She was wearing sunglasses and sweatpants, with her hair pulled into a messy bun.
She marched inside.
“Are you satisfied now?”
I closed the door.
“Hello to you too.”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?”
I said nothing.
“Everyone saw my cards get declined! My coworkers were there. People from my book club were there! Someone recorded it and posted the video online!”
She removed her sunglasses.
Her eyes were swollen.
“It’s spreading all over Facebook, Olivia!”
“I didn’t record anything.”
“You might as well have!”
She paced across my living room.
“You could have talked to me privately if you were upset. You didn’t have to embarrass me in front of everyone!”
I took a breath.
“Camille, you stood before sixty guests and claimed credit for a celebration I planned and paid for.”
She looked away.
“You arranged a seating chart that didn’t include a seat for me.”
“That wasn’t personal.”
“And you smiled while Mom told me I wasn’t entitled to eat.”
She threw up her hands.
“It was a joke!”
“It wasn’t funny to me.”
Camille shook her head.
“Oh, please. You always act like the victim. Nobody forced you to pay for everything. Nobody asked you to become the family’s personal bank.”
I opened my mouth to argue.
Then I stopped.
Because somewhere inside her angry words was a small piece of truth.
No one had physically forced me.
I had volunteered again and again.
I’d convinced myself that doing more would finally make everyone appreciate me.
“You’re right,” I said quietly.
Camille stared.
“What?”
“No one made me do those things. I chose to help. For years. And I also chose to stop.”
She seemed uncertain how to respond.
Then I asked something that had been bothering me.
“Camille, why were both your credit cards declined?”
Her expression changed.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You work full-time. Brian has a good job. Why were both cards unavailable?”
She stood completely still.
Then she slowly sat on the arm of my couch.
“Brian left.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
She looked down.
“He moved out in March.”
“March?”
“Seven months ago.”
I could barely believe it.
Camille gave a bitter little laugh.
“He met someone at his gym. Apparently, that’s where people go to find replacements now.”
I sat down.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
