After wiping them dry, I headed out to the front door to answer it.We used to have a couple of permanent maids who would answer the door, but not anymore. These were uncertain times, and Mom was proactively cutting expenses. I wasn't bothered; it wasn't like I was used to having maid service when I was at school.I peered through the peephole and pulled my head back in surprise. Mom and I were making dinner in preparation for his arrival and we'd been expecting him, but not in this manner. Quickly, I flipped the deadbolt and opened the door, hands on my hips as I cocked my head and asked, "Carter? What are you doing ringing the doorbell? You lose your key or something?"My stepbrother sheepishly stood on the doorstep with his hands in his pockets. His lower jaw jutted forward and his eyes were downcast as he shrugged and replied, "I dunno. Didn't feel right to just let myself in." What are you talking about? This house has been our home for years and years. Just because you got your. I was actually surprised I’d only just found her, especially since we were from the same hometown. The photo rattled me on so many levels. Firstly, the caption: so tired, can barely stomach an 8-hour flight, thankfully I never fly eco. It was the most blatant of humblebrags. Oh, poor little tired Tabitha, so tired she was, sat in the airport with her feet up on her expensive luggage while she sipped a cocktail, waiting for her luxury flight. Heaven forbid she’d ever have to fly with the rest of the cattle in economy. And the feet, God, the feet were infuriating. Who even did that in public anyway? What kind of entitled brat propped up their bare feet in the airport lounge like they owned the place? All the while blinding everyone with the sparkly display of wealth on her ankle. The comment tab popped up and I let fly with my usual snippet of hate. Me: Oh, look at you, Tabitha, aren’t you just little miss perfect? You’re so much better than me! We should all be bowing at your feet! I.
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