Cut Off the Leeches My Brother’s Fake Gifts Ruined Them All

A family of four—just right.

The caption on the photo caught my eye.

It brought back memories of my college years—every time I was away at school, Mom would gather with Stan and his wife to take a family portrait. Four years of university, four portraits. Not a single one included me.

I once asked her why they couldn't wait until I came home. She'd hemmed and hawed, claiming Stan was too busy and could only make time when I happened to be away at school.

Now I finally understood. It was never about scheduling. Their definition of "family" had simply never included me.

I tapped the like button on the photo—a reflex, maybe, or some pathetic attempt at connection. Within seconds, I discovered I could no longer see Stan's posts.

I tried sending him a message. Blocked. He'd deleted me entirely.

I didn't fall asleep until the early hours, drifting off into a fitful, hazy slumber.

I dreamed I was back in high school.

In the dream, Mom held my hand, her eyes soft with concern. "Tania, sweetheart, stop working those part-time jobs. I've made some money recently—just focus on your studies. Don't worry about anything else."

I got into college—a better one than in real life—and Mom threw me a grand celebration banquet. On move-in day, she and Stan drove me to campus together. They both told me I was the pride of our family.

Then my phone rang and shattered everything.

I jolted awake. Stan's name glared from the screen, and dozens of unread messages clogged my notifications.

The moment I answered, his frantic voice crashed through: "Where are you? Do you have any idea what's happened? Get home. Now!"

I kept my voice unhurried. "What's going on?"

He stammered, tripping over his words. "It's—it's the New Year goods! Aunt Maureen's in the hospital, so is Uncle Walter's wife—look, I can't explain over the phone, just get back here!"

Then came the accusation I'd been waiting for: "If you'd just gone and bought them like you were supposed to, none of this would've happened. This is on you!"

And there it was. Crystal clear. Stan's cheap knockoff goods had poisoned people, and now he needed someone to dump this disaster on.

"Did you already forget what you said yesterday?" My voice came out soft, almost gentle. "You made this mess. Don't come looking for me to clean it up."