At 22, I’m hustling through college, living at home, and saving for a car. I got a credit card to build my credit, but when my brother and his wife stole it, they messed with the wrong sister. Growing up, I saw my parents fight over money, so I’m careful, paying rent and bills while stashing cash. I researched student credit cards and got one, using it twice—textbooks and groceries—paying it off fast. It stayed in my wallet, a quiet win for future me.
I told Dad, knowing Mom spills everything. “It’s not free money,” he said. Mom overheard, asking about the limit. I dodged, but my brother, Ryan, soon texted, “Need your credit card. Ours are maxed.” Ryan, 28, and his wife, Jess, are a mess—jobless, always begging. I refused, saying I’d pay the debt. He called me selfish, claiming I owed them for “watching” me as a kid. I brushed it off, but knew he’d push.
Ryan and Jess showed up, acting friendly, demanding my card. “We’re family,” Jess said. I said no, but Mom walked in, taking their side. I held firm, and Dad kicked them out. Mom left too, calling me cold. Days later, my card was missing. I’d left my wallet out during their visit, distracted. The bank reported charges: $200 at an electronics store, $100 for gas, pizza. I froze the card, reported it stolen, and told Dad. “Let them face it,” he said.
The next day, Jess called from the police station, begging me to say they had permission. An officer asked if I’d authorized it. I pictured Ryan’s smugness, Jess’s demands, thinking they could take from me. “No, it was stolen,” I said. They yelled about family, but I shot back, “Family doesn’t rob you.” They’d tried the card again, but it was flagged, and police were called. I didn’t press charges, but they got a fraud record. Mom came back, quiet, cooking my favorite meals. Ryan and Jess never said sorry, but they’ve backed off. I learned to stand tall, and my new card symbolizes my freedom.
