I Became His Worst Curse

My mother died of a hemorrhage when she gave birth to my younger brother. My father always said I was a curse, born with a dark fate that brought ruin to everyone close to me. And so, I became his favorite tool for keeping my brother in line.

When my brother was little, he refused to eat bitter vegetables.

My father didn't force-feed him. Instead, he pried my jaw open and shoved a handful of raw, fiery jalape?os down my throat. I thrashed on the kitchen floor, my throat burning and bleeding, while my brother screamed in terror and choked down his greens, crying hysterically.

When we got older, my brother skipped school to hang out at a local arcade.

When my father caught him, he didn't hit him. In front of my brothers eyes, he took my entire portfolio of sketchesthe ones Id spent months preparing for the national art competitionand ripped them to shreds, page by page. I cried until my voice went completely raw. Only then did my brother, terrified, drop to his knees and swear hed never set foot in an arcade again.

And then, the final straw. My brother stole money from our father's wallet to tip a webcam girl on Twitch. When my father found out, he took my college acceptance letter and threw it into the roaring fireplace.

As my brother screamed in terror, my father just stood there, cold and indifferent, watching the thick parchment curl and blacken in the flames.

Every single penny you waste, Gavin, my father said, his voice terrifyingly calm, is another road I block for your sister. Lets see if you ever touch my wallet again.

Dad! Gavin fell to his knees, sobbing. Im sorry, Im so sorry! Please, take it out! Save it!

But my father didn't move. He let it burn.

I stood by the hearth, watching three years of blood, sweat, and sleepless nights crumble into ash. I didnt cry. I didnt scream. I just felt a cold, hollow smile pull at my lips.

Dad, if you really believe Im a curse... then I will be your curse. Starting with your precious son.

01

Tomorrow, you report to Lyle Briggss fish processing plant. Its eight hundred a month, under the table. The cash goes straight into my account.

My father kicked at the last of the glowing embers in the hearth, scattering the grey ash across the floor. He didn't even look back as he spoke.

Gavin was still kneeling on the hardwood floor, his face streaked with tears, his chest heaving. Dad... Maeves college letter...

College?

We heard the scuff of his slippers fading down the hallway. He didn't even pause. A curse like her doesn't need college. Working to put you through school is her only purpose in life.

I knelt down, my fingers brushing the charred debris at the bottom of the hearth.

The ash was light as a moth's wing. When I touched it, it dissolved into nothing.

Maeve.

Gavin crawled over to me on his knees, grabbing the sleeve of my sweater. His voice was raw from crying. Im sorry. This is all my fault... Ill go beg him. Ill drop out. You should go to college, not me.

Gavin.

I cut him off, standing up and brushing the invisible dust from my jeans.

Starting tomorrow, I am never shielding you again.

He froze, staring up at me.

I didn't look at his expression. I just turned and walked into my bedrooma cramped, drafty space barely wider than two paces.

I shut the door, my fingers finding the loose brass latch on the back of the wood. The door panel was so thin that light leaked through the cracks. Gavin called my name three times from the hallway, each shout weaker than the last.

I didn't answer.

Once his footsteps finally faded, I reached under my pillow and pulled out my burner phone.

I checked my balance. One thousand four hundred dollars. Every cent I had.

Over the last three years of high school, I had washed dishes in the school cafeteria, worked as an assistant at an art studio for younger kids, and spent my winter breaks clearing tables at a hot pot restaurant. This was everything I had managed to scrape together.

My father didn't know about this account. The only account he knew about was the one hed forced me to open when I turned sixteen, using my ID at the local bank to set up an automatic monthly transfer that swept half of my earnings directly into his pocket.

I opened TikTok and searched for his account.

Old Frank's Parenting Tips. Three thousand followers.

He had posted dozens of videos. How to make a rebellious teenager listen. How to break a child's habit of lying. How to build absolute fatherly authority.

In the comments, strangers praised him. They called him a firm but loving father. They said spare the rod, spoil the child.

My face had never appeared in a single one of those videos. But every parenting methodology he preached had been tested on my skin first.

His latest video had been posted three hours ago. The caption read: Teaching kids the real cost of a dollar.

I tapped it. In the video, he held my college acceptance letter up to the camera, smiling. My oldest daughters ticket to university, he said to the lens. Do you believe Im about to burn this right now?

The comments section had laughed. No way, haha. Don't go that far.

The next frame showed him tossing it into the fire.

The video already had over two thousand likes and eight hundred comments.

I closed the app and locked the screen.

My hands weren't shaking.

All the shaking inside of me had been used up over the last eighteen years.

Around eleven, I heard my fathers bedroom door creak open, followed by the heavy scuff of his slippers across the linoleum.

He paused outside my door for a few seconds, as if debating whether to push it open. Instead, he just rapped his knuckles against the thin drywall.

Lyle Briggs is coming over for dinner the day after tomorrow. Dont embarrass me.

Lyle Briggs.

The owner of the fish plant.

I had lived in this town for eighteen years, and I knew exactly what kind of man Lyle Briggs was. He was forty-five, twice-divorced, and owned three massive commercial cold storages on the east side of town. Just last month, he and my father had been drinking bud light and calling each other brothers at the local poker table.

My father wasn't talking about me working at his plant.

He was talking about dinner at our house.

And those two things were never going to be separate.

I stared at the hairline crack running across my ceiling, listening to Gavin muffle his sobs into his pillow next door.

Stop crying, little brother.

I told you, Im not shielding you anymore.

Which means whatever your father does next, youre going to have to watch with your eyes wide open.

Maeve... Gavins whisper came through the thin wall, barely audible. Are you awake?

I closed my eyes. Yeah.

Im going to give you all my allowance tomorrow. The money I saved up. Can you... can you please not go to that plant?

Gavin, I said, my voice flat. Dad spent your savings two years ago. He told you he put it in a high-yield account, didn't he?

Silence fell over the other side of the wall. It stretched for a long, agonizing minute.

...Youre lying.

Go check the lockbox in his closet. You'll see.

02

The night Lyle Briggs came to dinner, he wore a black polo shirt with gold embroidery on the collar.

He walked through our front door carrying two cartons of premium cigarettes and a crate of expensive imported beer, his voice booming loud enough to echo down the entire block.

Frank! Wheres that pretty girl of yours?

My father rushed to greet him, a wide, sycophantic smile plastered across his facea look I had never seen him direct at anyone in my family.

He clapped Lyle on the shoulder, ushering him into the living room. As they passed me, my father muttered under his breath, barely moving his lips: Put your hair down. Lose the ponytail.

Lyle sank into our worn-out sofa, crossing his legs and scanning the modest room. His eyes eventually locked onto me as I carried a platter of roasted chicken out of the kitchen.

This her?

Yeah, thats my oldest, Maeve. My father pushed me toward the sofa, his hand pressing down on my shoulder. His grip wasn't violent, but his knuckles dug hard into my collarbone. Say hello to Mr. Briggs.

Hello, Mr. Briggs, I said, placing the platter on the table.

Lyle tilted his head, studying me for a long moment before taking a sip of his beer. Frank, shes pale. Pretty, but too thin. How old is she?

Eighteen. Just had her birthday.

Can she work? I dont keep dead weight at my plant.

Oh, shes a worker, my father said, pouring Lyle another drink. This girls been doing chores since she could walk. Cooking, cleaning, laundryshes got stamina. She won't disappoint you.

Lyle set his glass down and gestured toward me. Come here. Let me see your hands.

I didn't move.

Under the table, my fathers shoe kicked my shin hard.

He asked to see your hands. Show him.

I walked over and held my hands out, palms up.

Lyle grabbed my hand, turning it over to inspect the palm, then the back. He pressed his thumb firmly against my wrist, rubbing the skin as if he were at a butcher shop, testing a cut of meat for freshness.

Soft, he murmured, his thumb lingering on my pulse point. Doesn't look like shes done much heavy lifting.

She draws, my father offered, a hint of disdain creeping into his voice. But shes done with that hobby now.

An artist? Lyle laughed, a dry, grating sound. A creative type. Well, just make sure you don't complain about the smell of fish scales at the plant.

He let go of my hand and clinked his glass against my father's. Alright. Have her report tomorrow morning. Well discuss the... compensation details privately.

The way he said privately hung in the air, thick and suggestive. I watched the tense wrinkles around my father's eyes smooth out in instant relief.

Gavin stayed locked in his room the entire evening.

But I could see the door was cracked open an inch.

Once Lyle left, my father pushed the stack of dirty dishes toward me. Wash them.

As I started clearing the table, Gavin burst out of his room.

Dad, what did Briggs mean by that? Is he trying to...

Trying to what? My father lit a cigarette. Your sister is working at his plant to earn money so you can go to school. Its the natural order of things.

Then why did he grab her hand like that? Gavins voice was tight, his face flushed. The way he was looking at her...

What do you know about anything? My father pointed his glowing cigarette at Gavins chest. He was checking to see if she has the grip for the processing lines. Stop overthinking and worry about your own damn grades.

But

But what? My father slammed his fist onto the table, rattling the remaining glasses. Who do you think paid off the three thousand dollars you wasted on those online streaming girls last year? You think money grows on trees? If your sister doesnt work, how are we going to pay for your tuition?

Gavin clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white.

He looked at me.

I kept my head down, scrubbing a plate, turning the kitchen faucet on to its maximum volume to drown out the noise.

Maeve, say something.

I kept scrubbing.

He stood there for a long time, chest heaving, before turning back to his room. The slam of his door was violent enough to rattle the cheap drywall.

The cold water splashed onto my sleeves.

Later that night, Diane came over.

She was the woman my father had met at the local poker den last year. In her early forties, she always spoke in a soft, syrup-sweet voice, and she never showed up without a bag of fresh fruit.

Maeve, sweetie. Your dad told me about the job at Briggss plant...

She sat on the kitchen stool, peeling an apple with a paring knife and offering me a slice. Her smile was warm, practiced. Honestly, Lyle Briggs is a good man. Hes been in business for years, owns a nice house, drives a brand-new truck. Working for him is a lot safer than doing odd jobs around town.

Diane, I said, accepting the apple. How did your first husband die again?

Her hand froze mid-peel.

Her smile didn't falter, but the warmth in her eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp glare.

That was an accident, sweetie. It has nothing to do with this. Why would you bring up something so tragic?

Just curious.

You, she said, standing up and patting my shoulder, her voice returning to its gentle, maternal tone. Should stop overthinking. Just do what your father tells you. He always knows best.

03

On my third day at the fish plant, Lyle called me into his office.

Maeve. Close the door.

I stood by the threshold, my hand resting on the frame. I didn't shut it.

He spun around in his leather chair. A freshly opened pack of Marlboros sat on his desk, and he held an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

Did your dad not tell you?

Tell me what?

What we agreed on. He put the cigarette between his lips, flicking his lighter twice, though the flame wouldn't catch. You don't need to be down on the wet floor of the processing line anymore. Come work in my office. Help me organize the invoices. The work is light, and I'll double your pay.

No, thank you. I prefer the processing line.

He stood up, walking around his desk until he was standing right in front of me.

The pungent smell of raw fish mixed with his heavy, expensive cologne washed over me, making me take a step back.

Maeve, don't play hard to get. He leaned down, his eyes scanning my face. You know about your dads tab, right? He owes me fifteen grand.

What?

Last year, when your brother got into that mess at school, your dad came to me to bail him out. I lent him the cash.

I hadn't known about the money.

But as he spoke, his eyes continued to crawl over my face, lingering on my collarbone.

So you see, Ive been very generous to your family. He reached out, his thick fingers catching a strand of my hair and tucking it behind my ear. Come work in the office. We can get to know each other. If things go well, we can just forget about that fifteen-thousand-dollar debt. Your dad won't have to pay back a dime, and Ill even cover your brothers college tuition. Its a win-win.

I backed up until my spine hit the doorframe, my hand finding the brass knob.

I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Briggs.

You don't? He smirked, flicking his cigarette ash onto the floor. Go home and ask your dad. He knows exactly what I mean.

I turned, threw the door open, and walked straight back to the processing floor. I stood by the deep industrial sink at the far end of the room and plunged my hands into the ice-cold water, scrubbing my skin until it was raw.

I could still feel the phantom pressure of his fingers against my ear.

When I got home after my shift, my father was waiting for me in the living room.

A stack of hundred-dollar bills and a single sheet of paper sat on the coffee table.

Briggs bumped your pay. Four hundred a week, starting now. But you need to sign this.

The paper was a voluntary transfer request. From the processing floor to the main office.

Im not signing it.

What did you say?

I said, Im not signing it.

My father crushed his cigarette into the glass ashtray and slowly stood up.

He didn't hit me. In eighteen years, he had never laid a hand on me.

His punishments were always redirected.

Gavin!

Gavin peeked his head out of his bedroom, his face pale. He had a guilty look, probably from trying to figure out how to request a replacement copy of my college acceptance letter online.

Your sister is being stubborn. Starting tomorrow, youre dropping out of school. You can go work at the fish plant with her.

Dad! Gavin ran into the living room. You can't do that!

I can do whatever the hell I want. I'm your father.

Gavin spun around to look at me, his eyes rimmed with red. Maeve, just sign it.

Gavin.

Just sign it! Please!

I looked at him, and for the first time in days, I laughed.

I told you. Im not shielding you anymore.

My father raised his hand and slapped Gavin across the face.

The sound was sharp, echoing loudly in our small, cramped living room.

Gavin clutched his cheek, tears welling in his eyes, but he forced himself not to cry out.

He was fifteen, almost as tall as our father now, but in front of this man, he was still just a child who only knew how to kneel.

Maeve, Gavin whispered, his voice cracking. What do you want from me?

I want you to see things as they really are.

My father raised his hand again.

This time, Gavin didn't flinch.

He took the second slap head-on, then stared straight into our fathers eyes. You can hit me all you want, Dad. But you can't sell Maeve to Lyle Briggs.

The entire room went dead silent.

My father grabbed Gavin by his collar, lifting him slightly off his feet. What did you just say?

Briggs was touching her in his office today. You knew about that, didn't you?

Who told you that?

I walked past the plant after school. I saw Maeve walk out of his office. Her hands were shaking.

My father let go of his collar.

There was no anger on his face, no shock. Just a dark, irritated scowl of someone whose secrets had been dragged into the light.

You don't know what you're talking about, he muttered, sitting back down and lighting another cigarette. Briggs just has a rough way of talking. It didn't mean anything.

Later that night, Diane came over again.

She stayed in my fathers bedroom for a long time. Through the thin drywall, I heard her whispering.

Frank, you need to lock this down. Briggs was very clear. Either we make this happen... or we get Maeves birth certificate and ID and set a date to get the paperwork filed.

Shes only eighteen. The courthouse might not even license it without more verification.

In a town like this, who cares about the courthouse? Just throw the reception first and get them living together. Briggs is getting impatient. He brought it up to me last month.

I leaned my back against the wall, my eyes narrowing at the detail hidden in her words.

He brought it up to me last month.

To her. Not to my father.

Diane was the one orchestrating this entire thing.

04

Gavin didn't go to school the next morning.

He stood by the front door, slamming his backpack onto the floor. If Maeves not going, Im not going either.

My father walked out of his room, glancing at him as if he were a stubborn piece of livestock.

Fine. Then neither of you eats today.

He locked the kitchen door from the outside.

By noon, Gavin was sitting in the corner of the yard, his stomach cramping from hunger.

I sat on the porch steps, listening to Diane talk on the phone inside. Her voice was muffled, but I could make out the words.

Lyle, honey... just give it a few more days. Her dad is handling it... Yes, Ill find a way to get her ID... Don't worry, shes not going anywhere.

Gavin heard it too.

He looked up at me, his lips pale and dry. Maeve... shes talking to Briggs.

I know.

Maeve, lets run away.

To where, Gavin?

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

A fifteen-year-old boy with no money and no ID. Where could we possibly go?

In the afternoon, my father unlocked the kitchen door and carried a bowl of instant noodles out, placing it in front of Gavin.

Eat. Then get your ass to school.

Gavin didn't touch it.

I have plans for your sister. Its none of your business.

Plans? Youre selling her to a forty-five-year-old man!

Its not selling. Its finding her a secure future.

Gavin kicked the bowl.

The hot soup splashed onto the dirt, steam rising into the afternoon air.

My fathers face darkened instantly.

He walked back into his bedroom and came out holding something in his hand.

It was my mother's silver bracelet.

It was the only thing I had left of her. For eighteen years, I had worn it while washing dishes, while sleeping, even at the fish plant. My father had never touched it because he was superstitious about dead peoples belongings.

But today, he held it in his hand.

Gavin. If you don't pick up that backpack and get to school right now, this goes into the river.

You... Gavins eyes went wild.

Try me.

Dad, thats Moms! You can't do that!

My father raised his hand, holding the bracelet high above his head.

You have three seconds to get out of this house. One.

Gavin looked at me, panic in his eyes.

Two.

I stood up and walked over to my father. Give it back.

You think you can control him? My father looked down at me, his expression cruel. I thought you said you weren't going to shield him anymore? Fine. If you won't fall in line, then your mothers things go too.

Three.

He swung his arm.

The silver bracelet flew through the air, clattering against the concrete wall before rolling into the filthy drainage ditch at the edge of the yard.

Gavin lunged for it. He shoved his arm deep into the murky, stagnant water, searching frantically until he pulled the bent, muddy piece of silver out.

He ran over to me, pressing the wet bracelet into my palm.

Maeve, its not broken... its just a little bent... I can fix it with some pliers...

I gripped the metal.

The delicate script engraved on the insideKeep Maeve Safewas scratched and caked with mud.

It was the only message my mother had ever left me.

Gavin looked at my face, then suddenly turned and charged back into the house.

What are you doing? my father shouted, blocking the doorway.

Im getting my savings book! Gavin yelled back. You said you were saving my money! Im taking it to Lyle Briggs so he leaves my sister alone!

Your savings book? My father stared at him, then let out a cold, mocking laugh.

It was a laugh so devoid of humanity it made my skin crawl.

Go ahead. Search the whole house.

Gavin ran into his room, tearing through his drawers. Five minutes later, he ran out clutching a small red savings ledger.

He flipped it open, his eyes scanning the pages. The color drained from his face.

Zero... why is it zero?

What did you expect? My father lit another cigarette. Your allowance, your sisters wages, your mothers small life insurance policyevery single cent went to paying off your messes over the last three years.

When you got suspended, it cost me two grand. When you got caught stealing from my wallet, that was another hit. Plus your food, your clothes... neither of you is cheap to keep.

Gavin stood frozen, the red book trembling in his hand. He couldn't squeeze out a single word.

My father walked over, snatched the ledger from his grip, and stuffed it into his back pocket.

So you see, if you don't study hard, youre going to end up just like your sister.

He cast a cold glance at me.

Its her fate. Don't blame me for being harsh, Gavin. Some people are just born to be stepping stones for others.

I don't want her to be my stepping stone! Gavin screamed, his voice cracking into a sob.

You don't have a choice. My father turned to walk back inside. Oh, and Lyle is coming over this Saturday to finalize the engagement. Maeve, curl your hair. Wear a dress.

The door shut.

Gavin stood in the yard, his fingernails digging so hard into his palms that they drew blood.

Maeve, he whispered, his voice sounding older than fifteen. What do we do?

I didn't answer him.

I walked back into my room, knelt by the bed, and reached under the loose floorboard to pull out an old, dusty cell phone.

I had found it yesterday while rummaging through some old boxes in the crawl space.

My mother's old phone. The corner of the screen was cracked, but the power button still worked.

I pressed it.

The screen flickered, then glowed faintly.

3% battery.

At the very bottom of the gallery was a single video file named: For Maeve.

I tapped play.

My mothers face filled the screen. She looked younger than I remembered, but her face was hollow and pale, leaning against a sterile hospital pillow. Her voice was barely a whisper.

Maeve, sweetie... if youre watching this, it means Im no longer with you. There are things you need to know...

The deed to the cottage on North Street... I hid it in...

The screen went black.

Battery depleted.

Gavin stood behind me, staring at the dead screen, his entire body trembling.

Maeve... that was Mom...

Go find a charger.