My sister arrived up weeping on the same day I won the lotto, and my mother was admitted to the hospital. By supper, I understood it wasn’t a coincidence—someone was playing me.

I led a modest existence. I awoke at six a.m., packed lunches, sent my daughter off at school, worked all day, returned home, prepared supper, checked homework, and slept. Repeated. There were no unexpected events or conflicts. There were only consistent, honest days. My baby was my entire universe. Every decision I made was for her.

I reared her on my own. Her father disappeared before she was even born. I sobbed for weeks.

Now? I don’t even recall his last name. That is how far I have come.

I built my life incrementally. I worked my way from receptionist to office manager. I took night school, canceled vacations, bought my apartment without a co-signer, and paid off my car completely. My father—God rest him—used to say:

“Earn everything for yourself. Never rely on chance or a man.”

I took that advice seriously. Still do.

What about Jasmine, though? My younger sister?

She exuded a radiance reminiscent of sparkling clouds. She was always smiling, always floating. When faced with a challenging situation, she would find a way to navigate it, usually accompanied by a romantic partner. Her Instagram was filled with images of palm trees, poolside scenes, and flirtatious comments.

One post said, “Living my best life 🌸✨.”

“Relax, Audrey,” she would say, sweeping her locks over one shoulder. “You are preoccupied with planning. “When will you just live?”

I wanted to respond, “When I can afford rent AND an emergency fund at the same time.”

But I did not. There’s no point. Jasmine lived in a world where things always worked out, until they didn’t.

She sank hard when the men vanished and the expenses began piling up. She walked into the poor flat with flickering lights and a leaking ceiling. I overheard her weeping on the phone one night. I didn’t ask any questions. I just wired her money.

Even Mom, who remained in Dad’s old house, contacted me more frequently.

“Just a little help this month.”

I was always willing to help. Quietly. There will be no lectures and no judgment. Just quiet support.

Then came that Friday afternoon. I was at the petrol station with a handbag full of loose coins that made a noise whenever I moved.

The woman in front of me purchased a lotto ticket. I shrugged and purchased one myself—just to get rid of the coins.

Later that night, I scratched it casually while folding laundry. I accidentally scratched three identical numerals. Then more. I reviewed the results three times.

I won. A lot.

***

We met at Mom’s place the next evening for her birthday meal. She had cooked her famous pot roast, filling the house with that warm, oniony aroma that reminded me of Sundays as a child. But the warmth stopped there.

What is the mood? The atmosphere is tense as usual.

No one was present at the neatly laid table. Everyone took turns delivering their newest “updates”—which, in this family, were just issues disguised as discussion.

Jasmine went first.

“I had to sell my vintage mirror,” she sighed, stabbing her salad as if it had betrayed her. “You know, the one from Paris. I loved that thing.”

Mom nodded passionately.

“My electricity bill went up. I’m not sure what the electricity company believes I’m doing in that house—running a bakery?

Then all eyes went to me. I paused. My hands trembled when I poured the drink. I stayed silent, but something within told me it was time.

“I won the lottery,” I said, setting down the teapot. “Don’t worry. I am donating it to charity.”

Jasmine choked on the lemonade. “What?!”

I reached over and stroked her on the back, halfheartedly.

“You’re giving it away?” She gasped, her eyes wide. “Are you insane?”

“They are easy money. And easy money rarely results in peace. I’ve got everything I need. This may benefit someone who does not.”

Jasmine blinked. “That is… insane.” Luck finally smiles at you, but you spit in its face. ”

“I do not believe in luck. I believe in the value of work. In savings.” In plans.”

Mom put down her fork. “You should think of your daughter.”

“I’ve already set up deposits for her future,” I added, staring her in the eyes.

Silence ensued. The silence was so intense that it caused your skin to itch. They smiled, but their eyes said something else. I sensed a tempest brewing behind them. I attempted to brighten the mood.

“Don’t worry,” I said with a little grin. “You are still receiving lovely presents.” I am not heartless.”

Jasmine uttered a quick laugh. Mom muttered, “Well, that’s… generous of you.”

We nibbled silently, forks clinking across plates.

***

Sunday mornings began with a pleasant wind sweeping past the balcony curtains, something I enjoy the best. I cuddled up in my recliner, still in my pajamas, and drank cinnamon tea from my favorite cracked mug.

I was going through charity websites and bookmarked those that seemed trustworthy. Real. I was ecstatic to help. It gave the money a purpose that was greater than me.

Then the doorbell rang. I flinched and nearly spilled my drink. It was barely nine a.m. I opened the door to see Jasmine. She had streaked her eyeliner down her cheeks and pulled her lips together, seemingly trying not to cry.

“Hey, I need to talk.”

I walked aside without asking any questions. “Come in.”

I prepared new tea as she sat at the table, looking at nothing.

“Remember Liam?” Jasmine finally spoke. “The one who hurt me?”

I nodded slowly. She had not mentioned him in months.

“I’m pregnant.”

The words lingered in the air, like a dropped dish. She did not look up.

“It’s late,” she said, her gaze fixed on her tea. “It’s too late for alternatives. Audrey, I want this baby. But he stated he would not help. “He blocked me.”

I blinked, still digesting. “You’re… pregnant?”

She nodded, her mascara pouring even faster as tears streamed down her face.

“I’m not sure what to do. I can’t work full-time in this situation. I become dizzy in the morning. And I cannot afford a babysitter or a larger home. If I could get a loan, I promise I’d pay it back.” Every penny.”

A loan. Of course. When Jasmine was desperate, that phrase would constantly come up. But still, she is my sister.

I sat across from her.

“Move in with me.” You will have your own room. I’ll assist you in getting over this.

She glanced up, surprised. “However, the infant will cry. “I’ll disrupt your entire life.”

“My niece or nephew will never cause a disruption. Never.”

She sniffled, wiped her cheek, and hesitated.

“Or… if I could get some of your lottery money, I could manage alone.”

There it is. The real reason for the visit is revealed.

“Alright,” I eventually said. “I will share the proceeds. Half goes to charity. Half goes to you.

Jasmine dropped her cup and raced around the table to hug me.

“You are a saint, Audrey.” A literal saint.”

I didn’t respond. My phone vibrated on the counter at that same moment.

Mom sent an SMS.

“I’m in the hospital. Please come.” I’ve got bad news.”

***

We ran to the hospital so quickly that I neglected to change out of my slippers. Jasmine sat next to me in the vehicle, gnawing her nails. My heart pounded in my chest the entire journey.

Mom was sitting alone in the hallway with a stack of papers in her lap. She appeared tired—as if she hadn’t slept all night.

I knelt before her. “Why didn’t you tell us you were sick?” She sighed and caressed my face, as if I were five years old again.

“I just suspected, honey. But now… here are the findings. She held out the papers, her hands trembling slightly.

“Treatment is pricey.” I am not sure I can afford it.”

“You can,” I said without hesitation. “I’ll use the lottery money.”

“Part of it,” Jasmine said hurriedly.

“Right,” I said with a nod. “Half. I promised Jasmine. “She is pregnant.”

Mom raised her eyebrows in amazement.

“Pregnant?” I nodded. “The contribution can wait.” Health comes first.”

Later, I drove both of them home. Mom put her head against the vehicle window, pretending to be asleep. Jasmine sat in the backseat, looking through baby name applications as if she were already nesting.

When we arrived at Mom’s residence, Jasmine offered, graciously but almost too quickly,

“I will remain with her for a few days. Assist with her recovery.”

I nodded, fatigued yet grateful. “That’s kind of you.”

Then I departed to finish the papers and get the lottery money. My stomach wrenched during the journey, but I attributed it to anxiety. Something still didn’t seem right.

I reached for my phone halfway to work, only to find it charging in the kitchen. I groaned, turned the car around, and drove back.

When I arrived at Mom’s place, I used my key to silently enter. The voices came in from the living room.

“She actually bought it,” Jasmine stated, her tone arrogant.

“You didn’t have to lie,” Mom responded.

Oh, please. And you are doing better? Making up an illness? You are as healthy as a horse! I observed your test results while I remained overnight.”

“I have debt, Jasmine. I needed aid.” And Audrey is throwing money at strangers.”

There was a pause. “So… I just tweaked the reports and called a cab to the hospital for effect.”

Then Jasmine giggled gently. “Oh, Mom…”

That’s when I entered the living room. Jasmine’s phone fell from her grasp and dropped on the couch cushion with a quiet thud. Mom clasped her fingers over her teacup.

“I guess I interrupted something,” I said politely. They open their lips, but I raise my hand.

“No.” You have said enough.” Jasmine glanced aside. Mom kept her eyes down and pretended to adjust her skirt.

“You two are accustomed to comfort, not consequences. That’s everything for now.

The air became thick. “I’ll keep the money in the family,” I said, “but not for spa days or luxury trips.”

I turned to Jasmine. “Do you want a future?” I will pay for your internship. You will work, study, and earn every dime.”

Then to Mom.

“I will cover your debts. And I’ve already registered you for financial literacy lessons. Twice every week.

“Financial what?” Mom mumbled while blinking. “You will learn to live within your means and learn how to stop lying to the people you love.” Jasmine said, “Audrey…”

I met her eyes. “No more manipulation.” You wanted me to enjoy life? This is how I love it—on my terms.”

They did not fight. They did not engage in any arguments. Just quiet. Not anger.

And that was the first time I felt powerful in a long time. Everything was going smoothly and steadily.

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