MY BROTHER SMASHED MY THESIS PC A WEEK BEFORE GRADUATION. MY PARENTS LAUGHED AT MY TEARS...

Описание: THEY DIDN'T KNOW THAT MOMENT WOULDN'T END MY CAREER — IT WOULD END OUR FAMILY FOREVER.
I'm 32, and the sound of my life falling apart didn't sound like a scream. It sounded like a crunch.
It was 2pm on a Tuesday. I stood in my bedroom doorway, hand frozen on the doorknob. My brother, 28, stood over my desk. In his hand: a metal baseball bat. On my desk: my custom-built PC—three years of savings, $3,200—lying on its side. Tempered glass shattered. Sticky Mountain Dew dripping from the vents, sizzling as it hit the motherboard.
"Oops," he said. He didn't look sorry. He looked satisfied. "Slipped."
My knees went weak. Inside that machine was my master's thesis in landscape architecture. Six months of work. Hundreds of CAD drawings. The competition renderings. My one shot at a real salary.
"Why?" I whispered.
He shrugged. "You wouldn't drive me to the mall. I had a date. You said you were busy. Well, now you're not busy." He smiled that cold smile I'd seen a thousand times.
"What's going on?" My mother's voice came from the hallway. She and my father had let themselves in with the emergency key. She walked in, saw the wreckage, and stopped.
I waited for her to yell at him. Instead, she sighed and rolled her eyes.
"Oh, sweetheart. Don't be so dramatic. It's just a toy."
"A toy?" I choked out. "Mom, that cost $3,200. My thesis is on there. My graduation depends on this."
My father chuckled. "Three grand for a video game box? Should've saved for a house instead."
"It's for work. I'm an architect. I need this."
"You draw pretty pictures," my brother said, grabbing my chips. "I'm the one with real business ideas. Mom, did you transfer that crypto money?"
She beamed. "I did, honey. We believe in you."
I stared. My career was smoking on the desk, and they were discussing his investments.
"He broke it on purpose," I said. "He poured soda on it because I wouldn't drive him."
She waved dismissively. "He said it slipped. Why do you always assume the worst? You've been jealous since you were kids."
"He committed a crime. This is destruction of property."
"Stop being dramatic," she snapped. "You're tearing this family apart over metal. Family comes first."
My father clapped my shoulder. "We'll buy you a notebook. A paper one. Should've printed your homework anyway."
My brother snorted. "Maybe don't act like you're the only one who matters."
Something inside me snapped. Quiet. Like a cable being cut.
I looked at them—really looked. My mother's eyes only for him. My father refusing to understand. My brother smirking, knowing he could do anything and they'd blame me.
I didn't have parents. I had my brother's fan club.
"Get out," I said.
Silence.
"Excuse me?" She looked offended.
"Get out. Leave my key. Now."
"You're kicking us out over a computer?" My father stepped forward.
"You have thirty seconds or I'm calling the police for vandalism."
My brother's smile died. "You wouldn't."
My mother saw my face. Saw the stranger I'd become. "Fine. Choose a machine over family."
She slammed the key down. They left.
I sank to the floor. Then remembered—my failsafe. I crawled under the desk. A small USB drive velcroed underneath. Hidden. My hands shook as I ripped it off. Dry. Safe.
But then I saw a crumpled receipt. Downtown pawnshop. Yesterday. External hard drive, 4TB. His name on it. $40.
My backup. He'd stolen it yesterday.
This wasn't an accident. He broke the PC to hide that the backup was missing. He sold my future for $40.
I held the receipt. Tears came—not sadness. Clarity.
"You want war?" I whispered. "Let's have war."
I worked seventy-two hours straight. Finished the thesis. Won the competition. $85,000 salary.
Six months later, their house foreclosed. My father's second mortgage covering my brother's gambling finally caught up. I bought it at auction. $127,000. Cash.
Last week they showed up at my door. Broke. Desperate. My mother had aged ten years. My father looked small. My brother looked scared.
"We need help," she said. "We're family."
I handed them an envelope. Eviction notice from their rental property. The property I'd just bought.
"You have thirty days," I said. "You taught me about structure, Dad. Rotten foundations collapse."
Her face went white. "You bought our rental just to kick us out?"
"No. I bought it to donate to a nonprofit. For kids escaping financial abuse. You're just in the way."
My father tried to step forward. "We're your parents—"
"You were his parents. I was just the ATM."
They stood there. Broken. No golden child to save them.
"Please," my mother whispered. "We have nowhere to go."
"Figure it out," I said. "Like you told me to when I was working three jobs for tuition."
I closed the door.
Watched through the window as they drove away in their rusted sedan.
I wasn't okay.
But I was free.