My parents worshipped my little sister so much that the second she landed a basic marketing job, they sat me down and called me a “freeloader,” telling me I’d been hiding in my “safe little HR job” for five years—and kicked me out. The next morning, she strutted into her shiny new office, smirking, “Here to beg for a maid job?” I smiled, opened my folder, and slid it across the table. “No, Sarah. I’m here to deliver your termination letter.”

Her shoulders slumped.

“What am I supposed to tell Mom and Dad?” she whispered, almost to herself.

“That you got fired,” I said. “For cause. And that you’ll figure it out.”

“You’re such a bitch,” she muttered.

“I’m your older sister,” I replied. “And right now, I’m the HR professional walking you through the process. You will sign the letter. You will return your badge and laptop. You will collect your personal belongings and leave the building by ten. Security will escort you if needed.”

She stared at me.

Then she signed.

The pen squeaked a little on the paper.

When it was over, when she’d handed over her badge and phone and walked through the glass doors with a cardboard box holding her plant and a few random desk items, I sat in the now-empty conference room and breathed.

Linda exhaled too.

“That was…” she said. “Efficient.”

“It’s never fun,” I said. “But clarity is kinder in the long run.”

She nodded. “I have to ask,” she added, curiosity getting the better of her. “Are you two… related?”

“Sisters,” I said.

She let out a low whistle. “That must have been… something.”

“It was inevitable,” I said. “In a way. The world doesn’t bend the way our parents did. It expects you to show up.”

As I drove back to my office, the morning already blurring into the afternoon’s tasks, my phone buzzed.

Mom.

I let it go to voicemail.

Ten minutes later, it buzzed again.

This time I answered.

“Hello?”

“Leavonne,” she said, her voice high and sharp, brittle. “Is it true? Were you there when Sarah got fired?”