Chapter 2The Price of a Washing Machine: A Daughter's Rebellion

I finally understood what she was really upset about.

Everything in this house, in my mom's eyes, belonged to my sister, Chloe. Even a broken-down old washing machine that could only fetch ten dollars.

Even though I spent $600 buying her a new washing machine, I shouldn't have taken that ten dollars from the old one; I should have given it to my sister.

My hand was still resting on the washing machine's control panel, my fingertips turning cold.

My mom stood nearby, impatiently shaking out the clothes that needed to be rewashed, waiting for me to move out of the way.

"Mom," my voice trembled slightly. "Do you really think that ten dollars should have gone to Chloe?"

She furrowed her brow. "Who cares about ten dollars? I'm just saying that you as a person are..."

"Do you?" I interrupted her, my voice sharper than I intended. "Do you think the money from selling that washing machine should belong to Chloe?"

"That's not what I meant!" My mom suddenly raised her voice. "I just think you act too selfishly, never considering anyone else."

That sentence was like a key, suddenly unlocking the floodgates of memory.

Two years ago, when they remodeled the kitchen, they sold the old cabinets for $150. The money was wired directly to Chloe's account.

At the time, my mom said, "Your sister is a bit strapped for cash right now." But back then, I had just put down the deposit on my apartment, and the monthly mortgage payments were so high I couldn't sleep at night.

"It's been like this since we were little," my voice grew steadier. "As long as it's something in this house, it eventually becomes Chloe's. You were even afraid I was taking advantage by taking the money for a broken washing machine."

My mom suddenly slammed the laundry basket down again. "What nonsense are you talking about!"

"Nonsense?" I pulled out my phone. "What about the tea set Grandpa left behind last year? You said you wanted to save it for Chloe because she 'knows how to appreciate it.' But Grandpa explicitly said he was leaving it to me!"

The washing machine emitted a shrill beep; the Quick Wash cycle was over.

My mom yanked the door open, a blast of damp air from the wet clothes hitting my face.

"Your sister has always been thoughtful since she was little," she said, shaking the clothes vigorously, water droplets splashing onto my face. "Unlike you, always nitpicking over every little thing."

I wiped my face, suddenly remembering something from college.

That year, I saved up my work-study money to buy my mom a cashmere sweater. Without even trying it on, she said the color was too dull. Later, I saw that exact sweater on Chloe's Instagram, with the caption saying it was a new outfit Mom bought her.

"Nitpicking?" I let out a laugh, took out my phone, and dialed the junk hauler. "Hey, Frank, could you bring back that washing machine from the other day... yeah, the one I sold you for ten bucks... Pay extra? How much? ...Fine, twenty bucks it is."

My mom snapped her head around. "What are you doing?!"

"Buying my sister's washing machine back," I said, hanging up the phone. My voice was so light it didn't sound like my own. "After all, it's ten dollars. I can't just pocket that all by myself."

Her face instantly turned bright red. "Are you crazy? Why are you wasting money buying that junk back?!"

"Wasting money?" I nodded. "I spent six hundred dollars on this new washing machine. It was the bonus from the project I worked late nights to finish. Do you know what I use? The broken, secondhand washer the previous owner left behind. It sounds like a tractor when it runs. I'll take this new one back for myself to use. This way, no one wastes any money, and you can keep living with your precious sister's washing machine."

My mom opened her mouth, seemingly unable to believe I would say such a thing.

After all, I had always been incredibly obedient to her, never showing a hint of defiance. She was so angry she couldn't speak for a long time.

I made another call to schedule a mover for the new washing machine that afternoon.

After hanging up, the room was terrifyingly quiet, save for my mom's heavy breathing.

"Mom," I said softly. "Do you remember the year I took the SATs?"

Seeing my tone soften, she thought I was about to apologize. Her attitude immediately became arrogant, and she let out a cold snort.

"I had a fever of 102 degrees, but you said Chloe had finals the next day and we couldn't disturb her sleep." My nails dug deeply into my palms. "I sat alone in the urgent care clinic getting an IV drip until 3 AM."

My mom was completely enraged now. She grabbed a plastic hanger and hit me on the back. "Why are you bringing up ancient history!"

My back stung with fiery pain.

I couldn't help but think of how, whenever it rained when we were kids, my mom waiting at the school gate always only had one umbrella—the one meant for Chloe.

My mom would always say, "You're older than your sister. Run faster and you won't get wet."

"You know what," I said, picking up my purse and heading for the door. "Sometimes I really wish you'd just say it straight. Just say you like Chloe more. Just say everything in this house belongs to her."

As the door clicked shut behind me, I heard a loud crash from inside. She had probably thrown the laundry basket again.