I had been spending on my family into Gary’s education account, our emergency savings, and experiences we could share without resentment attached.
The photograph I remember most from his tenth birthday was not the one beside the cake.
It showed Gary in midair above a trampoline, arms spread, dinosaur hoodie lifting around his waist.
His face held the fearless joy of a child who knew everyone in the room had come for him.
In the corner of the picture, behind the glass, I was standing beside the counter with the blue folder under my arm.
For years, my family had called me dependable because it sounded kinder than useful.
That day, I remained dependable.
I simply chose the person who had always deserved it most.
