The Birthday Heist

“Everybody out!” Officer Vance’s voice cut across the lawn like a whip.

Inside my house, the twenty-odd relatives—aunts, uncles, and cousins who had spent the last two hours eating my expensive seafood, drinking my liquor, and laughing while Amy scrubbed greasy pans—scrambled like rats fleeing a sinking ship. Aunt Betsy stumbled through the front door clutching a designer shopping bag stuffed with leftover gourmet food, her face flushing crimson as flashlights swept over her.

“This is a misunderstanding!” Betsy squawked, her voice shaking as she hurried past the squad cars. “We were just helping celebrate! Family helps family!”

“Your version of helping involves grand larceny and elder-assisted property fraud,” Officer Vance replied dryly, gesturing for them to clear the driveway. “If anyone else is found removing property that does not belong to them from this address tonight, they’ll be joining Mrs. Bradley in the back of that cruiser.”

The exodus was swift and humiliating. Within fifteen minutes, my home was emptied of the leeches who had feigned love while bleeding me dry. The only sounds left were the low hum of the police cruisers idling in the street, the crickets in the backyard bushes, and Frederick’s soft, whimpering cough against my shoulder.

Amy sank onto the wooden bench beside the front door, burying her face in her hands. The blue dress I had bought her—the one she had admired online for months, which was currently sitting untouched in the gift bag on the kitchen counter—felt like a cruel joke. She had spent the entire day treated like an indentured servant, and now the wreckage of that nightmare surrounded us.

“Amy,” I murmured softly, kneeling beside her on the cold concrete. “Look at me.”

She slowly lowered her hands. Her eyes were bloodshot, swimming with tears she had held back all afternoon out of pure survival instinct.

“I’m so sorry, Connor,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I tried... I tried to tell you on the phone last week, but your mother took my phone. She said if I complained, she’d call Child Protective Services and tell them we were unfit parents. She said you’d believe her because she’s your mother.”

A cold fury, deeper and sharper than any anger I had ever felt in my life, surged through my veins. I reached out, gently wiping a smudge of dish soap and flour from her cheek.