Chapter 6: Downfall, Goodbye, and Chosen Family

“Maya, that wannabe you and Manager White met at the reception? He’s been arrested.”

“…No way.”

I stared at my phone in disbelief. It almost felt like karma had finally caught up.

George Parker used his shell company for illegal fundraising—white-collar crimes, sentenced to fifteen years.

His pretty new wife sold their house and skipped town with the money.

She vanished without a trace, leaving nothing behind but rumors.

I thought of my sister, so proud to have found her real dad. I wondered how she was doing now.

A pang of pity flickered in my chest, but I pushed it aside.

Not long after, I ran into Kyle. He said, “Sis, I broke up with Wendy Parker. After what her dad did, I couldn’t risk marrying someone like that—wouldn’t want it to affect my kids.”

He looked genuinely relieved, as if a weight had been lifted.

“What about her?”

“No idea. We broke up—why should I care?”

He shrugged, already moving on.

Dad called. Wendy had shown up, crying and begging to come home. He chased her out with a broom.

He told me about it over the phone, laughing bitterly. “She thought I’d just take her back, after everything.”

A few days later, Tammy called: “Wendy had the nerve to come back, wanting to live with us again.”

I could hear the exhaustion in her voice.

I said, “Her name is Wendy Parker.”

I made it clear—she was no longer my responsibility.

Even my college friend Rachel Ellis reached out:

She sent a DM, her tone confused. “Hey, did your sister’s Facebook get hacked?”

“Maya, did your sister’s Facebook get hacked? She just asked me for money. I thought something was off—if she was in trouble, she’d ask someone closer.”

I sighed.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. Some things never change.

“Rachel, she probably really is asking for money.”

“…Huh?”

Rachel’s confusion was almost funny. I could picture her face, eyebrows raised.

Everyone was baffled.

I could almost hear the disbelief in their voices.

Wendy knew my college friends because, years ago, she needed help moving dorms in sophomore year. The school didn’t have enough trucks.

I remembered that chaotic day—boxes everywhere, laughter echoing down the dorm hallway.

Rachel lived in that city. I mentioned it to her, and she immediately drove over with her boyfriend to help.

They didn’t hesitate, just showed up and got to work.

I sent Wendy $100, telling her, “Treat them to a meal and thank them.”

I wanted her to learn gratitude, to appreciate the people who helped her.

After moving, Wendy shamelessly asked if they could help her roommates too.

I cringed when she told me, but Rachel just laughed it off.

Rachel, being generous, agreed.

She always had a big heart, never minded going the extra mile.

They made four round trips between campuses, hauling mountains of stuff. Rachel and her boyfriend were exhausted by the end.

They collapsed on the curb, sweaty and smiling, proud of what they’d accomplished.

I later scolded Wendy: “You can help your roommates, but you shouldn’t make others help too. If it were just me, fine…”

I wanted her to understand boundaries, to not take advantage of kindness.

She shot back: “Should I just leave my roommates hanging? How would they see me then?”

Her logic was twisted, but I let it go. I was tired of arguing.

…That’s true, I guess.

I shrugged, not wanting to fight anymore.

I just felt bad for troubling Rachel, but she didn’t mind:

She hugged me at graduation, whispering, “We’re best friends. Your sister is my sister—don’t be so formal.”

Her words stuck with me, long after everyone else had gone home.

Half a year ago, Rachel got married. She sent invites to both me and Wendy.

Her wedding was beautiful, full of laughter and love. I wished Wendy had been there.

She told me privately: “Your sister just started working—no need for a gift. I’ll only take yours. Bring her along so you’re not alone.”

Rachel always looked out for me, even when I didn’t ask.

I asked Wendy. She replied with just two words: “Not going.”

Her text was blunt, no explanation.

“Why not?”

I waited, hoping for a real answer.

“She said no gift needed, but I’d have to pay for the train, right? I don’t have that kind of money. Plus, taking time off means losing pay.”

She always had an excuse, always put herself first.

…

“But I’ll definitely send my best wishes! Sis, since she helped me before, you should give her a bigger gift.”

She managed to make even Rachel’s kindness about herself.

So I went to Rachel’s wedding alone.

I sat at a table near the dance floor, watching everyone else laugh and dance. For once, I didn’t feel lonely.

Actually, after that incident, I realized Wendy was really inconsiderate and ignored her for a long time.

I stopped reaching out, stopped checking in. The silence was a relief.

Later, I thought, she’s younger—she’ll mature after working for a while.

I gave her the benefit of the doubt, hoping she’d change.

Until I asked her for Advil, and that was when I lost all hope.

That was the final straw. I couldn’t do it anymore.

She wasn’t just immature. She was selfish and ungrateful.

I let that truth settle, heavy but necessary.

After hearing all this, Rachel was speechless.

She sent a string of shocked emojis, then called me. We talked for hours, trying to make sense of it all.

I said, “Now she’s alienated everyone, has no one left. But I never thought she’d be shameless enough to ask you for money. Other than that move, you two have only eaten together, right?”

Rachel was surprised: “We never ate together.”

I frowned, the pieces not adding up.

“Really? When you helped her move, I sent her $100 to treat you. Didn’t she?”

“Nope. After moving, she just bought me a lemonade from Chick-fil-A.”

I closed my eyes, feeling the anger rise all over again.

…

I finally posted on my Instagram story:

“As of xx/xx/xx, I have officially severed ties with Wendy Parker. If anyone approaches you for money in my name, don’t fall for it!”

I hit “post,” feeling lighter than I had in years.

With nowhere else to turn, she finally came to me.

She showed up at my door, makeup perfect, hair curled, but her eyes were hollow. She looked like a princess who’d lost her kingdom.

She apologized sweetly, begging for help.

She clutched my arm, tears streaming down her face, voice trembling with desperation.

She said she was almost out of money and would be evicted soon. Could she move in with me, even if my place was shabby?

Her words hung in the air, heavy with expectation. I could see the hope flicker in her eyes.

I said, “Even Jesus can’t fix stupid.”

I watched her face fall, the realization sinking in. I meant every word.

That’s right—she wasn’t just awful, she was stupid.

I shook my head, wondering how she’d gotten so lost.

When someone is so selfish that everyone around them abandons them, and they’re still smug about their little gains, they’re just cutting off their own future.

I tried to feel sorry for her, but I couldn’t. She’d made her choices.

Seeing I wouldn’t budge, her face changed.

She dropped the act, her eyes hardening.

She called me by my full name:

“Maya Zheng, you’ve always had it better than me. I’m this pitiful and you still won’t help? You’re heartless.”

Her voice was cold, accusatory. I didn’t flinch.

“You had new clothes. I didn’t. I could only watch you wear them out, and by the time I got them, they were out of style.”

She wiped her nose, voice rising.

“I never had a new dress growing up, so in college, I blew all the money you sent me. I bought whatever was most expensive—if my rich roommates could afford it, so could I!”

She cried and laughed, almost hysterical.

Her emotions swung wildly, from anger to sorrow and back again.

Growing up with such unfairness twisted her heart.

Was it all her fault? Not entirely.

I let out a sigh, feeling a flicker of sympathy. Life hadn’t been easy for either of us.

“Later, I found my real dad and thought life would finally be good. But there was a woman at home—pure on the outside, scheming on the inside. Dad always sided with her, so I had to move out.”

She looked away, her voice barely above a whisper.

I couldn’t help but laugh: “So, a higher-level version of you? You’re just not as skilled yet.”

She ignored my sarcasm and wiped her tears:

She sniffled, determined to finish her story.

“But after you got me fired, I went back anyway—and beat that woman at her own game.”

Her eyes flashed with pride, but I saw the cracks in her armor.

“Oh? Funny, I heard she sold the house out from under you.”

Her face flushed, then went pale, as she tried to save face.

She looked down, unable to meet my gaze.

“Sis, when I saw how poor your place was, I finally felt a little better… Good things can’t always happen to you, right?”

She smiled bitterly, as if that made everything okay.

I slapped her again—not hard, just to wake her up.

She gasped, shocked. I kept my voice calm.

“Wendy Parker, I’ve never wronged you. Your pain came from Mom’s mistakes and George Parker’s.”

I spoke slowly, making sure she heard every word.

“When you were little and didn’t understand, I thought you’d eventually see Dad’s side. Put yourself in his shoes—would you want to raise your partner’s child from someone else?”

She blinked, considering my words for the first time.

“When Dad kicked you out, I stayed with you, starving and freezing, refusing to leave you behind.”

I remembered those nights, huddled together for warmth, sharing a single blanket.

I looked into the distance, my heart cold: “I never thought that when I was sick and in agony, you wouldn’t even spare a single Advil.”

She seemed to remember something, rummaged through her bag, and nervously held out several boxes.

Her hands shook as she offered them, eyes pleading.

“I… I brought them… a few boxes.”

I paused, then laughed.

It was a bitter, hollow sound. Too little, too late.

The Advil came too late.

Like an umbrella after the storm—too late to matter.

I never forgave Wendy.

I let the grudge settle, knowing I was finally free.

I only heard she kept changing boyfriends, none of them lasting.

Her name popped up in gossip, always attached to a new guy, never for long.

A long time later…

I invited my best friends over to my new place for a feast and cocktails.

We laughed, ate too much, and danced in the living room, music blaring. For the first time in years, I felt truly happy.

When the DoorDash arrived, a familiar voice said, “Please give me a good review. Thanks.”

The bags rustled as she handed them over. I froze, recognizing her instantly.

Four pairs of eyes met.

My friends looked from her to me, the tension thick in the air.

Wendy avoided my gaze, then glanced at me, embarrassed.

Her cheeks flushed, and she shifted from foot to foot.

“Please don’t give me a bad review…”

Her voice was small, almost pleading.

She ran off like she was escaping disaster.

She didn’t look back, just disappeared into the night.

I locked the door and turned to my friends:

I raised my glass, a smile tugging at my lips.

“Ladies, tonight we’re not going home until we’re drunk.”

They cheered, clinking glasses. We toasted to new beginnings, to chosen family.

—You don’t choose your family.

I leaned against the window, watching the city lights. Some things you can’t choose, but others you can.

Friends are the people I choose.

Their laughter filled the apartment, warm and real. I knew I’d made the right choice.

But in the end, only the ones who matter stay by your side.

I looked around at my friends, grateful for every single one of them.

For the rest of my life, I just want to give my limited love to those who truly deserve it.

I made a silent vow to myself—to never settle for less again.

(The End)