I’m Mackenzie, 34, and last month I became a millionaire overnight with a lottery ticket I bought on a whim. When I refused to give half to my sister Brooke, my parents’ golden child, all hell broke loose. Nothing prepared me for walking into my apartment and finding my mother burning my lottery check while my father coldly stated, if you won’t share, you won’t get a penny. But their smug faces turned to shock when I burst out laughing.
Growing up in our middle-class suburban home in Ohio wasn’t exactly the picture-perfect childhood you’d see in family sitcoms. From the moment my sister Brooke was born when I was six, it became painfully obvious who the favorite child was. While most parents try to hide their preferences, mine never bothered with such pretenses.
When Brooke wanted dance lessons, they found the money. When I needed a graphing calculator for advanced math, I worked extra shifts at the local grocery store. Brooke’s artwork was prominently displayed throughout the house.
My academic achievements were met with casual nods. That’s nice, Mackenzie, but did you see what Brooke made today? Don’t get me wrong, my parents weren’t monsters. They provided the basics and occasionally showed genuine interest in my life.
But the imbalance was constant and undeniable. As we grew older, the pattern continued. Brooke dropped out of college to find herself, and my parents supported her financially through three different majors and five career changes.
Meanwhile, I worked through school, maintained a scholarship, and still graduated with substantial student loan debt. By the time I reached my thirties, I’d built a decent life for myself. I had a steady job as a marketing coordinator for a healthcare company, a small but comfortable one-bedroom apartment, and enough savings to occasionally treat myself to dinner out or a weekend trip.
I wasn’t wealthy by any means. Student loans still consumed a significant portion of my monthly budget, but I was proud of my independence. That Tuesday started like any other.
I stopped for gas on my way home from work, mentally calculating how much I could afford to put in the tank until payday. While paying, I impulsively added a lottery ticket to my purchase. I rarely played, maybe two or three times a year when the jackpot made headlines.
But something compelled me that You never know, right? The cashier said, handing me the ticket with a smile. Lightning has to strike somewhere, I replied with a laugh, tucking the ticket into my wallet without much thought. That evening, I heated up leftover pasta and scrolled through social media while half-watching TV.