Family loyalty only goes so far. When my teenage nephew crashed my car and everyone pretended it didn’t happen, I was ready to let it slide. But then, fate handed me the perfect chance for justice, and I surprised everyone—especially myself.
I’ve spent most of my life being overlooked. It sounds dramatic, but growing up as the forgotten child, you start to recognize the pattern.
I’m Betty. I’m divorced, childless, and always the afterthought in the family.
“Betty, why aren’t you married again?” my mom, Martha, asked during last year’s Thanksgiving. “You’re not getting any younger.”
My dad, Bernard, nodded along as usual.
Meanwhile, my brother Peter, with his perfect family—his wife, Sara, and their son, Nick—beamed at me from across the table. Nick, glued to his phone, didn’t even notice.
“I’m perfectly happy on my own, Mom,” I replied, the same answer I give every year. “It’s been five years since the divorce.”
“Such a shame,” she sighed. “Peter and Sara just celebrated their 20th anniversary.”
And there it was again—the comparison. Peter, four years older, the golden child.
He did everything right. He earned a college football scholarship, owns a successful accounting firm, and has a perfect family.
And me? I teach eighth-grade English, live in a modest two-bedroom house, and spend my weekends reading or hiking with my dog, Charlie.
“Nick got into State,” Peter announced, switching the subject to his son. “Full academic scholarship.”
My parents erupted in praise, while I quietly congratulated my nephew. Nick barely looked up from his phone, mumbling a “thanks” before asking if he could leave.
“Of course, sweetheart,” Mom cooed. “You must be tired from all your studying.”
I caught Peter’s eye. We both knew Nick wasn’t studying. He was probably texting his girlfriend. But in our family, appearances matter more than the truth.
After my divorce, I expected sympathy. Instead, my mom said, “Well, what did you expect? You were always so focused on your career.”
She said this, knowing full well that Tom had cheated with his 25-year-old assistant.
Meanwhile, Peter had just gotten a promotion, which quickly became the family’s new favorite topic.
This is just how it’s always been. Peter is the favorite, and I’m the afterthought.
But despite all of this, I’ve created a life I genuinely enjoy. My house has a beautiful garden, my students write me thoughtful notes, and I have friends who actually like spending time with me.
Last month, I splurged on something for myself—a blue SUV.
When I drove it to my parents’ house for Sunday dinner, my father barely noticed.
“Seems impractical for one person,” he remarked.
Peter whistled. “Nice ride, Betty. What’d it set you back?”
Before I could respond, Nick wandered over. “Can I drive it sometime, Aunt Betty?”
“You’d have to ask nicely,” I said, “and maybe help me with some yard work first.”
He rolled his eyes. “Never mind.”
That should’ve been my warning.
Nick had always been handed everything by Peter and my parents. Why work for something when you can just take it, right?
No way. I wasn’t letting him drive my car without a care.
When my 40th birthday came up, I decided to throw a party. Nothing extravagant—just food, drinks, and people who actually wanted to celebrate me.
I even invited my family, hoping they might, for once, notice me.
“You’re having a party?” Mom asked, incredulously. “At your age?”
“Yes, Mom,” I said. “People still celebrate after 39.”
“Well, I suppose we can stop by,” she reluctantly agreed, as though it was a favor. “Peter might be busy with Nick’s college preparations, though.”
That familiar ache returned. The one I’ve felt for years.
But this birthday would be different, I promised myself. This time, I wouldn’t let them make me feel small in my own home.
I spent the entire week preparing, making sure everything was perfect.
When the guests arrived, my friends from work brought wine and energy. The laughter filled the air, and for a while, I let myself relax.
Then, the family arrived.
“Happy birthday, Betty,” Peter said, handing me a gift bag that looked like it had been reused from last Christmas.
“Thanks,” I said, smiling politely. Nick walked right past me without a word.
Mom came in last, clucking her tongue as she scanned the room.
“You’ve got too many scented candles going. It’s a bit much.”
“Hi to you, too, Mom,” I muttered.
Nick plopped down on the couch, pulling out his phone without a greeting.
Despite the familiar tension, I did my best to stay positive.
I offered drinks, showed them the food, and introduced them to some of my friends. Most of the guests were gracious, and the mood was light for a while.
About two hours in, I noticed there weren’t enough chairs. I remembered a couple of old folding chairs in the attic.
As I headed upstairs, I heard it—a screech of tires. I froze.
I rushed to the window and my heart dropped.
My new blue SUV was sitting in the middle of the street, its front end crumpled against a neighbor’s mailbox.
“What the—?”
I watched as Nick stepped out of the driver’s side, brushing off his hoodie like nothing had happened. Then he casually walked back toward the house.
I ran downstairs, shaking, and headed for the front door, but my car keys were right where I always left them.
Inside, Nick was standing by the cake table, shoveling a piece of cake into his mouth.
“Nick!” I shouted. “What the hell were you doing in my car?”
He looked at me like I was speaking a different language. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play games with me. I saw you climb out of my car!”
Peter quickly stepped in. “Hey, calm down. You don’t seriously think he took your car, do you?”
“I saw him!”
“Are you sure, Betty?” Mom interrupted. “Maybe you’re confused. Nick’s been here the whole time.”
I couldn’t believe it. “He was outside!” I nearly yelled.
“I think you’ve had too much wine,” Peter said dismissively.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Even Sara said nothing, avoiding my gaze.
Nick just stood there, chewing his cake with a smug look.
That was it. I was done.
“Party’s over,” I said. “Everyone who doesn’t live here, out. Now.”
“Betty, don’t be dramatic,” Mom sighed.
“Out,” I repeated, this time louder.
They left in a huff, muttering about my temper. Nick looked back over his shoulder with that same smug grin.
I stood at the door long after they were gone, my car’s shattered headlight glinting like an insult in the street.
And for the first time in a long while, I let myself cry. I was furious.
The next morning, I was jolted awake by a loud knock.
Charlie barked as I stumbled to the door in my robe. I opened it to find Peter, Sara, and my parents.
“Can we come in?” Peter asked.
I stepped aside silently.
They sat on my couch, Peter clearing his throat like he was preparing for a pitch.
“Listen,” he began, “there’s been… a development.”
Mom wrung her hands while Dad avoided my gaze, staring at the bookshelf.
“Our neighbor called me this morning,” Peter said. “He noticed his fence had been crashed through. He checked his security footage.”
My stomach clenched.
“And… he recognized your car,” Peter continued. “He’s threatening to report it.”
Sara leaned in. “Betty, we need you to tell the police you were driving.”
“Excuse me?” I said, stunned. “Why on earth would I do that?”
“Nick doesn’t have a license yet,” Peter explained. “This could ruin his record.”
“He shouldn’t have been driving in the first place!” I snapped.
“It was a mistake,” Mom interjected. “He’s just a boy.”
“He’s 18!” I shot back. “He knows it’s wrong to take someone’s car without permission!”
“Betty, don’t be difficult,” Dad said. “This doesn’t have to be a big deal. Just tell the police it was you.”
I looked at their faces—the same people who’d overlooked my pain for years, who’d let Nick lie to me. And now, they wanted me to lie for him?
Peter softened. “We’re asking for your forgiveness. For the family’s sake.”
I nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
They relaxed, relieved. Sara smiled, and Mom seemed to breathe a little easier.
When the police arrived later that day, I stood firm.
“I wasn’t the one driving,” I said calmly. “Nick took my car without my permission. He doesn’t have a license.”
The officers exchanged glances, taking down the details.
Once they left, the yelling began.
“You lied to us!” Peter shouted.
“No,” I said calmly. “You lied to me. And I’m done cleaning up Nick’s mess.”
“You just ruined his future!” Mom hissed. “How selfish of you!”
“No,” I replied. “You did that. By teaching him there are no consequences.”
Peter stormed out, followed by Sara. My parents trailed behind, shaking their heads in disbelief.
I stood at the door, finally feeling the weight of everything fall away.
And for the first time