"It's Your Fault!"
We both felt perpetually shortchanged. "It's your fault!" became our refrain. I believed Mom always took Lily's side. "She's younger, you need to give way," Mom would insist. Lily likely thought Mom favored me, the older brother. We were like two bottomless buckets, each convinced the other held the larger share of Mom's love. During fights, we secretly wished the other would vanish. That feeling of resentment squirmed like worms within.
The Spilled Paint
The final spark ignited that day. Lily insisted on crowding my space while I painted. Deep in concentration, her elbow suddenly jerked. Splash! The entire bottle of blue paint cascaded onto my finished artwork – a chaotic ruin. That painting, my labor of love, was meant as Dad's birthday gift! "You did that on purpose!" I trembled with fury, pointing at her. "I didn't!" Lily shrieked, taking a guilty step back. Blind rage took over. I shoved her hard. Off-balance, she stumbled backward. Her head struck the wooden sofa arm with a sickening thunk. Stunned silence, then an earth-shattering wail erupted as she curled on the floor, clutching her head.
Mom's Fury
Mom burst in. Seeing Lily sobbing hysterically, paint pooled on the floor, the ruined painting, her face darkened. Her icy glare pierced me. Without a word, she quickly scooped Lily up, checking her head, then spun towards me: "Corner! Now! Immediately!" The fury in her voice made me flinch. I shuffled to the corner, back turned, listening to Lily's hiccuping cries and Mom's murmured comforts. Staring hard at the blank wall, a cocktail of injustice and anger churned inside. Why only see my fault? She started it! Why only punish me? I felt utterly abandoned.
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