I Thought We Were Broke Until I Saw The Livestream Comments

They told me the divorce tore our family apart. That was the first lie.

I went with Dad. After the split, his temper curdled into something rancid. He was a man composed entirely of whiskey fumes and violence, a black hole that swallowed every cent I earned and every ounce of peace I tried to build. He didn't care if the lights were cut or if the fridge was empty.

So, I grew up fast. I spent my afternoons gutting fish at the wharf, my hands permanently smelling of brine and bleach, just to keep a roof over our heads.

It was a Tuesday when everything shattered. DadFrankhad just knocked me sideways, rifling through my pockets to steal my tipsforty dollars Id sweated blood for. As I lay on the linoleum, dazed, my phone buzzed on the floor. The screen glitched, displaying a stream of chat comments overlaying my camera feed.

[User778: She still has no clue. Doesn't realize Mommy and Daddy never actually divorced.]

[TruthSeeker: Its just a reality show, guys. 'The Nature vs. Nurture Experiment.' Sadistic, if you ask me.]

[RichGirlSummer: Look at her. Freezing and starving while her sister is living it up in the Hills.]

I blinked, thinking it was a concussion. But the comments kept scrolling. Following the instructions in the chat, I dragged myself up and tracked the location they mentioned.

I found myself standing outside a gated estate in Pacific Palisades. The air here smelled differentlike jasmine and money. Then, the front door opened.

My sister, Ivy.

She wasn't wearing the hand-me-downs I remembered. She was draped in a silk dress that probably cost more than my lifes earnings. And there were my parents, flanking her, looking vibrant, healthy, and unmistakably together. They laughed as they climbed into a gleaming Rolls Royce, the heavy doors thudding shut like a vault.

I stood there, gripping my stomach where the hunger pangs usually lived, but all I felt was a bitter, rising bile.

They hadn't divorced. We weren't broke. I was just the control group.

They chose me to suffer because I was the quiet one. The obedient one.

1

I stood frozen on the manicured lawn, the sprinklers hissing to life around me.

If the text on my screen had been a rumor, seeing them with my own eyes was the verdict. My parents were still married. My family was sitting on a goldmine. And I was the punchline of a cruel joke.

Because I was good? Because I didn't fight back? Is that why I was the one thrown to the wolves?

I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to force air into my lungs. The pain wasn't physical; it was an existential hollowing out.

The comments scrolling across my phone screen filled in the blanks. It was a game. A deep-web reality stream for the bored and wealthy. They paid to watch the disparityone daughter groomed for the throne, the other ground into the dirt. Five figures a day in donations.

Was that it? Was I sold out for ad revenue?

Standing under the California sun, I felt a chill settle into my marrow.

My phone buzzed. A text from Ivy.

Hey Maya, heard youre scrubbing floors to pay rent? Poor thing. But youve always been the resilient one. Keep grinding, okay?

I could hear the smirk in her voice.

Ivy had always been the charming one, the one who knew how to curate her personality for maximum applause. I was the introverted shadow, the one who kept her head down. In middle school, when I brought home straight As and Ivy brought home detention slips, Mom didnt celebrate me. She scolded me for making Ivy feel bad.

I should have known then. The scales were never balanced.

Hey! You on the clock or not? Move it!

The shout snapped me back to reality. I looked around, disoriented. My feet had carried me on autopilot back to the fish market.

This was my life. Frank was a violent drunk who treated me like an ATM. I wasn't eighteen yet, so legal work was hard to find. I took what I could get, paid under the table, cash in hand.

Sorry, I whispered, the word tasting like ash. I tied on the stiff, stained apron, my face pale under the fluorescent hum of the market lights.

I worked until my fingers were numb. It was past midnight when I walked back through the alleyways, clutching my days pay.

The apartment was dark. The peeling wallpaper, the cracked window taped over with cardboardit all looked like a stage set now. Frank wasn't home. He was probably celebrating with his real family.

I ate a cup of instant noodles, staring at the water stains on the ceiling. I knew they were watching. Hidden cameras, capturing every slurp of broth, every tired sigh, broadcasting it to strangers who found my misery entertaining.

I couldn't sleep. I pulled out my cracked phone. The chat stream popped up again, dropping a link.

[Heres the main feed. Poor Maya looks broken. Shes working herself to death while they feast.]

I held my breath and clicked.

It was a sophisticated, private streaming site. The number one channel was live.

There I was, on a split screen. And there they were.

The Bishop family. My parents and Ivy were seated at a table draped in white linen, servers pouring vintage wine and cracking open lobsters. I smelled the stale flavor packet of my noodles; they smelled melted butter and success.

I felt like a scavenging creature watching swans glide across a lake.

2

I got home at nine the next night.

It was report card day. I had maintained my rankValedictorian. To celebrate, I stopped at a bodega and bought a generic, plastic-wrapped muffin. It cost two dollars. No frosting, just dry sponge cake.

I set it on the wobbly kitchen table like it was a delicacy. I broke off a piece. It was stale, but the sugar hit my tongue, and my eyes started to burn. I couldn't remember the last time I had a birthday cake.

The stream chat flickered in my peripheral vision.

[Mayas celebrating being top of her class with a stale muffin. Sad.]

[Meanwhile, Ivy failed three classes and look at the spread shes getting.]

I opened the livestream.

They were at a high-end sushi bar in Malibu. MomSusanwas stroking Ivys hair, smiling that warm, maternal smile I hadnt seen in years.

Grades aren't everything, sweetheart, she was saying. As long as you're happy.

Frank placed a piece of fatty tuna in Ivys bowl. If you want, we can just send you to Europe for a gap year. Or buy your way into that art program. The world is yours, Ivy.

They talked about her future like it was a boundless, golden horizon.

My name wasn't spoken once. It was as if I didn't exist. As if they had only one daughter.

I closed the laptop, the silence of the apartment deafening.

Halfway through my muffin, heavy boots stomped in the hallway. The door slammed open. Frank.

For a split second, a childish part of me wanted to show him my grades. To make him proud.

I crumbled the report card in my hand before I could offer it. He shoved me into the counter.

You got cash? I need a bottle. Now.

I... I don't have much, I stammered. He had taken everything yesterday.

You've been working all day! Don't lie to me!

His boot connected with my shin. Pain exploded up my leg, turning my vision white. I gasped, shrinking back. I dug the crumpled bills from my pocketmy grocery money for the weekand handed them over.

I ran to the liquor store, limping, and ran back.

Here, I said, setting the bottle down. He cracked it open, the smell of cheap vodka filling the room.

Dad, I tried, my voice shaking. Report cards came out. I got first in the...

First? He laughed, a harsh, barking sound. Whats the point of a girl reading books? Youre just going to get married anyway. Quit school, get a full-time job, and bring me more money. Thats your purpose.

I stared at him. The image of him offering Ivy a gap year in Europe flashed in my mind.

Girls should see the world, they had told her. Reading is useless, he told me.

I kept the report card hidden in my fist.

He finished half the bottle, then stumbled out, knocking the table over as he went. My muffinmy celebrationrolled onto the dirty floor. He stepped on it, grinding the crumbs into the linoleum, and slammed the door.

I looked at the flattened cake. The tears finally came, hot and silent.

3

Frank didn't come back for a long time.

The livestream chat told me why. Ivy was stressed about life, so the family rented a villa in Napa to help her decompose.

I sat in the damp apartment, shaking from a cold that wouldn't lift. It felt like ice water was circulating through my veins.

On the day of the final AP examsthe culmination of four years of sleepless nightsI walked the six miles to the testing center. Cars whizzed past me. I saw a flash of a familiar MercedesIvy, in the passenger seat, laughing. She didn't even have school that day.

When I walked out hours later, exhausted, I saw my parents' car idling by the curb.

My heart did a stupid, treacherous flip. They came. They finally remembered.

I started to walk toward them, a smile forming. But they weren't looking at me. The back door opened, and Ivy hopped in, holding shopping bags. They had just stopped to adjust the GPS.

As I raised my hand to wave, the Mercedes peeled away, merging into traffic without a backward glance.

I stood alone on the sidewalk, the exhaust fumes washing over me.

The text on my screen blurred.

[Ivy is the princess. A spa day while Maya fights for her future.]

[Mayas been eating crackers and water. Is this even legal?]

[Are they trying to break her?]

I pulled up the stream. My parents were addressing the camera, answering the chat.

We're building her character, Frank said, swirling a glass of red wine. Plenty of kids have it worse. If she can't handle this, she'll never survive the real world. We're doing her a favor.

Once the acceptance letters come in, we'll bring her home, Mom added, checking her manicure. We'll make it up to her.

Make it up to me?

I laughed, a dry, jagged sound.

They thought a new wardrobe and a hug would erase six years of starvation? They thought I should be grateful for the trauma?

4

I threw myself into work the moment exams were over.

I didn't know if theyd pay for college, but I knew one thing: they didn't love me.

Acceptance day arrived. I logged into the portal at the public library.

Stanford University. Class of 2026.

The librarian, Mrs. Higgins, hugged me. I knew it, Maya. You're going to do great things.

I ran home, adrenaline pumping. I had a stashemergency money Id hidden inside the hollow leg of the kitchen table. It was enough for my deposit and a bus ticket north.

I burst into the apartment. It had been tossed. Drawers pulled out, mattress overturned.

The table leg was unscrewed. The money was gone.

Frank was passed out on the couch, snoring, clutching a bottle of top-shelf bourbon.

I grabbed his collar and shook him. Where is it? Wheres my money?!

He swatted me away like a fly. Quit screaming. What's yours is mine. I raised you. You owe me.

That was for Stanford! I got in!

He glared, his eyes bloodshot. You're not going anywhere. You're eighteen. Get a real job and pay rent here. Don't ask me for a dime.

I stood there, trembling with a rage so pure it felt like fire.

I am going, I said, my voice deadly quiet. And I'll earn every cent myself.

I walked out.

I wandered aimlessly until I found myself near the upscale shopping district.

Maya?

I looked up. Ivy.

She looked immaculate. A sundress that caught the light, a crystal pendant at her throat. I looked down at my frayed sneakers.

I heard you got into Stanford, she said, smiling. It looked almost genuine. Thats amazing.

She scanned my outfit. Are you looking for work? This place is... grim. Listen, Moms friend needs a private tutor for her kid. It pays really well. In the Heights. You should take it.

I looked at her concern. It felt like a lifeline.

I was so desperate, I wanted to believe her.

5

The tutoring gig was in a secluded, wealthy neighborhood. The pay was incredible.

On the night I finally had enough for my tuition deposit, I was walking to the bus stop. A dark sedan pulled up. Three guys hopped out.

They reeked of stale smoke and trouble.

Hey, sweetheart, the one with bleached hair sneered. You look lost. Need a ride?

I backed up, clutching my backpack. Stay away from me.

Feisty. He lunged.

I fought. I scratched and kicked, but they were stronger. They yanked my backpack off, dumping the contents onto the pavement. My acceptance letter fluttered into a puddle. They found the envelope of cash.

Stanford, huh? The bleach-blonde guy laughed. Never hooked up with a genius before.

Let me go! I screamed.

He kicked my legs out from under me. I hit the concrete hard.

You talk too much.

He picked up a rusted pipe from the gutter. He didn't hesitate. He brought it down on my shin.

The crack was the loudest thing Id ever heard. Then came the scream.

[This is too far. Ivy set this up.]

[Yeah, the 'job' was a setup. She hired these guys.]

The chat flashed across my dropped phone screen.

The pain in my leg was blinding, but the betrayal was a knife in my heart. Ivy. My own sister. She didn't just want to win; she wanted to destroy me.

Did... did Ivy send you? I gasped, spitting blood. My hand found my phone, tapping the record button blindly.

The guy scoffed. You're smart. She said you needed a lesson. Don't overshadow her, got it?

He kicked me one last time and they ran.

I lay there, curled in a ball. My leg was twisted at a sickening angle.

Footsteps. Light, deliberate.

I opened one swollen eye. Ivy stood over me. She wasn't horrified. She was smiling. A cold, satisfied curve of her lips.

Help, I wheezed. Call 911.

She watched me for a long moment, like I was a bug shed successfully squashed. Then she turned on her heel and walked away.

6

A jogger found me an hour later.

I woke up in the hospital, my left leg encased in heavy plaster. Tibial fracture. No surgery needed, but I wouldn't be walking for weeks.

I called the police immediately.

I gave them the recording. I told them everything.

That evening, my parents burst into the room. They were carrying a fruit basket and wearing expressions of rehearsed concern.

Oh, Maya! Mom cried. My poor baby! Who did this to you?

Frank looked teary-eyed. We're here, honey. We'll take care of everything.

I watched their performance. It was nauseating.

Cut the act, I said.

They froze.

Maya, Moms voice dropped an octave. Look, Ivy is your sister. You can't press charges. She didn't mean for it to go this far. It was just a prank that got out of hand.

A prank? I pointed to my cast. She hired thugs to break my leg and steal my tuition.

Think of her future, Frank hissed. If she gets a record, she's ruined. If you sign this settlementan NDA and a waiver of liabilitywe'll bring you to the mansion. We'll pay for Stanford. Everything.

Or, Mom added, her eyes narrowing, You have no insurance. No money. You'll be discharged onto the street with a broken leg. And who knows? Those boys might come back.

I stared at them. They were monsters.

Fine, I said softly.

They brightened.

But I have a condition. I want a legal document. A complete emancipation and severance of ties. You disown me, I disown you. No legal claims, no financial ties. We are strangers.

They exchanged a look of relief. They didn't want a daughter; they wanted a liability removed.

Done, Frank said.

The next morning, they brought the papers. They signed the severance agreement with eager scribbles. I handed over the signed settlement letter.

They walked out, beaming, thinking they had won.

The second the door closed, I emailed the audio recording to the detective.

I opened the livestream. They were celebrating in the Rolls Royce, Ivy showing off a new bracelet, bragging about how family sticks together.

The siren wail cut through their audio feed.

I watched on the screen as the police cruiser blocked them in.

Ivy Bishop, step out of the vehicle.