Only My Death Can Fix This Family

"Wilbur's tutoring fee for this month is 1,200 dollars. It's for helping him earn money to support you in the future. I'm not paying it," Dad said coldly as he flung the bill onto the coffee table.

Mom let out a scoff and retorted, "He's your son. If that homewrecker of yours hadn't shown up back then and upset me so badly that I went into premature labor, would I have given birth early? This kid's poor health is all your doing! Why should I be the one paying for it?"

As I listened to those harsh words, I gathered my courage and walked over to tug gently at Dad's sleeve.

"Dad, Mom, please stop arguing…" I lowered my head and pleaded softly. "I won't go for any tutoring anymore. I'll study on my own. Please don't fight because of me—"

Before I could finish, Dad shoved me away in disgust. "Don't touch me!"

Then he turned to stare me down, his eyes full of resentment. "What do you mean you won't go anymore? Easy for you to say! If you don't go and fail to get into college, who's going to pay us back for the 15 years we spent raising you? Do you think money grows on trees for your mom and me?"

Mom seemed to have found an outlet to vent her anger too.

She pointed angrily at me and scolded, "So now you know how to be sensible? Do you have any idea how much that incubator for your premature birth cost me? I had to pay thousands every single day! That was my hard-earned money that you used up!"

At that moment, the two people who had been screaming at each other just seconds before were suddenly in perfect agreement.

I stood frozen, completely at a loss.

Dad looked at my pale complexion, which annoyed him to no end. "Just looking at your sickly face ruins my mood. You look exactly like your miserable mother. Go back to your room! Stop standing here and being an eyesore!"

"Who are you calling miserable?" Mom shrieked.

Yet another heated argument broke out between them.

I lowered my head and turned around silently to retreat to my cramped little room.

Just as I reached the doorway, a tall shadow blocked my path. My older sister, Zara Johnson, had appeared at some point in time and was now leaning against the doorframe.

She was wearing a brand-new outfit that cost about 3,000 dollars. Over her ears were the latest noise-canceling headphones. She had an irritated look on her face.

Instinctively, I tried to slip past her, but she deliberately stuck out a leg and tripped me. I staggered and was lucky enough to steady myself against the wall, or I'd have fallen face down. I looked up at Zara in alarm.

She looked down at me with contempt and sneered, "Wilbur, what's the point of you even being alive? All you ever do is waste money and cause trouble. You're nothing but a jinx!"