{"id":7480,"date":"2026-05-25T14:23:17","date_gmt":"2026-05-25T07:23:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/?p=7480"},"modified":"2026-05-25T14:23:17","modified_gmt":"2026-05-25T07:23:17","slug":"you-selfish-trash-my-mom-said-as-she-poured-boiling-coffee-over-my-head-at-family-brunch-while-my-siblings-filmed-and-laughed-they-thought-i-was-the-broke-cabin-loser-and-this-vid-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/?p=7480","title":{"rendered":"\u201cYou selfish trash,\u201d my mom said as she poured boiling coffee over my head at family brunch, while my siblings filmed and laughed. They thought I was the broke cabin loser and this video would humiliate me online. By Monday, 4 million people knew I\u2019d just sold my AI company for nine figures. By Tuesday, my brother was fired on a Zoom call \u2014 and by Thursday, the police were at my gate\u2026"},"content":{"rendered":"
<\/div>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

\u201cYou selfish piece of trash.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother\u2019s voice didn\u2019t just cut across the patio of the Obsidian Resort; it sliced the morning air in half.<\/p>\n

I watched the ceramic carafe tilt in her hand a split second before my brain actually registered what was happening.<\/p>\n

For some reason, I assumed she was just going to slam it down on the glass table for emphasis, the way she always did when she demanded our undivided attention.<\/p>\n

I expected the china to rattle and the silverware to chime like nervous bells, but instead, gravity simply took its toll.<\/p>\n

The heat hit me first as a concept, and then as sharp, stinging physical pain.<\/p>\n

Freshly brewed coffee, still nearly boiling, cascaded directly over my head.<\/p>\n

It slashed across my scalp like liquid fire, ran down the side of my face, and soaked instantly through the hood of my inexpensive gray hoodie until it seeped into my collar.<\/p>\n

My neck felt like someone had pressed a heavy, scorching iron against it and simply forgotten to lift it away.<\/p>\n

My lungs completely forgot how to breathe, and for a moment, there was nothing but a ringing whiteness in my skull as if my brain had short-circuited from the sheer shock.<\/p>\n

Then the sound came screaming back into focus.<\/p>\n

There were no gasps, and there were no horrified murmurs from the other guests.<\/p>\n

Instead, there was laughter.<\/p>\n

Wet, scalding coffee dripped from my eyelashes as I blinked blindly, trying to orient myself in the sudden chaos.<\/p>\n

My chair screeched backward on the stone terrace as I tried to pull away.<\/p>\n

Someone at a nearby table muttered, \u201cOh my God,\u201d in that half amused way people reserve for drama that doesn\u2019t actually belong to them.<\/p>\n

My brother Caleb\u2019s laugh cut through the rest of the noise, sharp and mean and high on adrenaline.<\/p>\n

When my vision finally focused, his phone was already in his hand, angled perfectly toward me with the red recording light blinking steadily.<\/p>\n

Beside him, my sister Maya had her device out as well, her mouth twisted into the kind of smile she used for her social media updates, a little too wide, with teeth a little too white and eyes sparkling with the joy of someone else\u2019s humiliation.<\/p>\n

Their cameras looked like twin little cyclops eyes aimed directly at me, unblinking and predatory.<\/p>\n

It was content.<\/p>\n

The back of my neck sizzled in the morning sun, and I could feel the coffee seeping down between my shoulder blades, hot and sticky and clinging to my skin through the thin cotton.<\/p>\n

I smelled burnt hair and bitter roast, and the pain radiated outward like a halo of heat around my head.<\/p>\n

My mother, Beatrice, stood over me with the empty carafe dangling from her limp hand.<\/p>\n

Her chest heaved, her face was flushed, and her elegant features were distorted into something feral and unrecognizable.<\/p>\n

A single lock of her perfectly highlighted hair had worked loose from her chignon, sticking to her temple with sweat.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat,\u201d she hissed, breathing hard, \u201cis exactly how we treat trash.\u201d<\/p>\n

Somewhere in the corner of my vision, a waiter hovered, frozen in place while balancing a tray of champagne flutes.<\/p>\n

He looked like he was desperately unsure whether to intervene or simply pretend he was invisible for the rest of his shift.<\/p>\n

I could have screamed then, and it would have been justified.<\/p>\n

I could have lunged across the table, knocked her over, and sent her sprawling into her own cold omelet and half eaten fruit bowl.<\/p>\n

I could have slapped the phones out of my siblings\u2019 hands and watched them skitter across the stone, their screens shattering like their fake, polished composure.<\/p>\n

The urge was there, a wild and animal thing clawing at my throat.<\/p>\n

Instead, I heard my own voice as if it were coming from someone far away.<\/p>\n

It said absolutely nothing.<\/p>\n

I stood up slowly, the chair legs scraping harshly against the stone.<\/p>\n

Coffee dripped from the ends of my hair, spattering the white tablecloth in ugly brown stars.<\/p>\n

My scalp pulsed in time with my frantic heartbeat, and every tiny movement sent fresh waves of pain lancing across my skin.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t look at Beatrice, and I didn\u2019t look at Caleb or Maya.<\/p>\n

I turned on my heel and walked across the terrace, my boots thudding on the stone, through the archway and into the cool, polished lobby of the Obsidian Resort.<\/p>\n

Each click of my heels on the marble floor sounded absurdly loud in the quiet space.<\/p>\n

People glanced up as I passed, including a businessman scrolling through emails, a couple in matching resort wear, and a little boy with a chocolate smeared face.<\/p>\n

Some of them stared outright at the woman with wet hair and coffee streaming down her neck, but none of them said a word.<\/p>\n

Of course they didn\u2019t, because this was the Obsidian, and absolute discretion was built into the premium room rate.<\/p>\n

I followed the gold lettered sign toward the restrooms, where the hallway smelled of citrus cleaning solution and expensive perfume.<\/p>\n

Inside the women\u2019s bathroom, which was gleaming white and chrome, I locked myself in the furthest stall and then stepped back out to face the mirror.<\/p>\n

For a long moment, I just stared at my own reflection.<\/p>\n

The coffee had soaked my hair until it clung in thick, dripping ropes around my face.<\/p>\n

My hoodie was a damp, mottled mess that clung to my shoulders and chest.<\/p>\n

Just along my hairline, the skin was already turning an angry pink, marching toward a deep, dangerous red.<\/p>\n

A blister had started to rise behind my left ear, the skin puckering and becoming shiny.<\/p>\n

I looked like someone who had been caught in a freak accident, not a daughter who had just been \u201cdisciplined\u201d at a Sunday brunch.<\/p>\n

The urge to scream rose up again, a physical pressure in my throat that demanded to be released.<\/p>\n

It wanted to pour out of me hotter than the coffee, a sound that would shake the mirrors and send the crystal light fixtures trembling.<\/p>\n

I wanted to scream, to break something, to smash the world into pieces.<\/p>\n

My fingers dug into the edges of the porcelain sink until my knuckles went white.<\/p>\n

Then, my eyes met my own in the glass.<\/p>\n

They should have been teary, and they should have been glassy with fresh humiliation.<\/p>\n

Instead, they were flat and cold.<\/p>\n

That look, more than the burn, more than the laughter outside, and more than the ceramic pot hitting empty, was the moment something shifted within me.<\/p>\n

It was the moment I realized the bridge wasn\u2019t just burned, it had been nuked from orbit.<\/p>\n

I imagined walking back out onto the terrace and unleashing all of it, years of being the family scapegoat, of being the weird one, the difficult one, the one who did not fit into Beatrice\u2019s curated social media feed.<\/p>\n

I saw myself in my mind\u2019s eye grabbing the tablecloth and yanking it, sending plates and glasses and Beatrice\u2019s carefully curated image crashing to the floor.<\/p>\n

I imagined the gasp of the surrounding diners, the chorus of phones being lifted, and the instant explosion of chaos.<\/p>\n

It would feel so satisfying for about eight seconds.<\/p>\n

Then what would happen?<\/p>\n

Then it would just be more content for them.<\/p>\n

If I screamed, I gave them a show, and if I cried, I gave them a story.<\/p>\n

They would slice it, edit it, and caption it.<\/p>\n

They would say, \u201cLook at the crazy one. Look how unhinged she gets over nothing. Look how unstable she is.\u201d<\/p>\n

My family did not thrive on love or connection; they thrived on drama.<\/p>\n

They drank conflict like it was expensive champagne.<\/p>\n

My mother, with her obsession with appearances and her ferocious need to look perfect even as everything underneath her was held together with credit and denial.<\/p>\n

Caleb and Maya, with their hunger for clicks and for validation from total strangers.<\/p>\n

They weren\u2019t people, not in the way families should be.<\/p>\n

They were black holes and ring lights.<\/p>\n

They were vampires of reaction.<\/p>\n

My hurt was their fuel, and my anger was their favorite meal.<\/p>\n

A fight meant I still cared, and a fight meant I was still in the ring with them, still playing by their rules.<\/p>\n

Silence, though, silence is a mirror.<\/p>\n

\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

When you don\u2019t scream back at a monster, it is left screaming into the void, listening to the echo of its own ugliness.<\/p>\n

Eventually, if there is nothing reflecting your cruelty back as power, all you see is yourself.<\/p>\n

I took a slow, steady breath, and then another.<\/p>\n

Then I reached for the stack of paper towels.<\/p>\n

Each dab against my neck made me hiss through my teeth because it felt like sandpaper on sunburn, but my face stayed neutral.<\/p>\n

I watched myself in the mirror as I carefully blotted away the worst of the coffee, leaving my skin uncovered.<\/p>\n

I wanted to see exactly what they had done.<\/p>\n

I wanted the image stamped into my memory with surgical clarity.<\/p>\n

The burn, the wet hair, and the empty calm in my eyes.<\/p>\n

This is the price of saying no, I thought.<\/p>\n

This is what fifty thousand dollars costs in my family.<\/p>\n

I tossed the damp paper towels into the trash.<\/p>\n

The mirror, framed in brushed silver, stared back at me, a stranger and a familiar ghost.<\/p>\n

I straightened my hoodie, tugged it away from the angriest patches of skin, rolled my shoulders back, and walked out.<\/p>\n

The hallway felt longer on the way back.<\/p>\n

The hum of the air conditioning seemed louder.<\/p>\n

My boots clicked out a measured rhythm.<\/p>\n

When I stepped back out onto the terrace, the sunlight hit my face and made me squint.<\/p>\n

A breeze carried the scent of salt from the lake, the sweetness of someone\u2019s Belgian waffle, and the sharp tang of my own cooling coffee on my clothes.<\/p>\n

The table had gone quiet.<\/p>\n

The performance was over, and the actors were just waiting for notes.<\/p>\n

Caleb sat with his phone still in his hand, screen up.<\/p>\n

The smugness on his face had settled into something tighter, like he wasn\u2019t sure whether this was going to go viral or just be saved for family group chat amusement.<\/p>\n

Maya\u2019s fingers danced over her screen, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, as she was probably already workshopping the perfect captions.<\/p>\n

Beatrice stood with her arms crossed.<\/p>\n

Her designer coat, a cream wool piece she claimed she\u2019d gotten on sale but I knew had swallowed half a mortgage payment, was perfectly spotless.<\/p>\n

Not a single drop of coffee had landed on her.<\/p>\n

She looked at me like a queen waiting for a servant to apologize for bleeding on the floor.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t sit down.<\/p>\n

I stepped to my chair, reached into the pocket of my damp hoodie, and pulled out my wallet.<\/p>\n

The leather stuck slightly to the fabric, and the bills inside felt faintly damp when I slid them free.<\/p>\n

I counted out four twenties.<\/p>\n

Eighty dollars.<\/p>\n

My share of the brunch I hadn\u2019t even eaten.<\/p>\n

The eggs and avocado toast I\u2019d ordered were still sitting there, congealing on their plate, untouched.<\/p>\n

Beatrice\u2019s mimosa glass was half empty.<\/p>\n

The coffee pot, its crime committed, sat where she\u2019d dropped it, a few leftover drops pooling in its spout like guilt.<\/p>\n

I placed the bills next to it on the white linen.<\/p>\n

Not tossed, and not crumpled.<\/p>\n

I smoothed each bill so it lay perfectly flat.<\/p>\n

For a second, the green of the money, the brown of the coffee stain, and the white of the tablecloth formed a strange little flag, a symbol of everything wrong and everything right about this moment.<\/p>\n

I could feel all three sets of their eyes on me, along with the curious weight of several strangers\u2019 stares.<\/p>\n

No one said anything.<\/p>\n

Good.<\/p>\n

I turned away from the table.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right, run away,\u201d Caleb called after me, his voice sharp with performative triumph. \u201cGo cry in your truck, Emma.\u201d<\/p>\n

My hand tightened around my wallet.<\/p>\n

I kept walking.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t look back.<\/p>\n

Their silence followed me like a shadow.<\/p>\n

It was heavy and thick.<\/p>\n

It was the kind of silence you get at the end of something, not the middle.<\/p>\n

It was the sound of a door closing.<\/p>\n

Not gently.<\/p>\n

It was bolted.<\/p>\n

Locked.<\/p>\n

Welded shut.<\/p>\n

They thought they had just banished me.<\/p>\n

Sent the trash to the curb.<\/p>\n

They had no idea they had just filmed their own execution.<\/p>\n

Outside the hotel, the winter air slapped my face.<\/p>\n

Chicago, or anywhere in the north during December, is not kind.<\/p>\n

The resort\u2019s heated terrace and fireplaces made it easy to forget that the city itself is capable of cutting through any coat, any pretense, at thirty miles an hour off the lake.<\/p>\n

My breath puffed out in little white clouds as I crossed the drive.<\/p>\n

Valets in neat black jackets flitted around polished cars, keys jangling, and tires crunching over salt.<\/p>\n

My Subaru sat toward the back of the lot, under a bare tree.<\/p>\n

It was ten years old, faded blue, and had one scratch on the rear bumper from where I\u2019d misjudged a parking post three winters ago.<\/p>\n

It was paid off in full.<\/p>\n

No one looked twice at it.<\/p>\n

I liked that about it.<\/p>\n

As soon as I opened the driver\u2019s door, the smell of stale takeout and coffee grounds in the cup holder wrapped around me.<\/p>\n

Today, there was a new top note of burnt coffee and singed hair.<\/p>\n

My hoodie squelched against the seat, leaving cool dampness seeping into the cracked fabric.<\/p>\n

I sat with my hands on the steering wheel and let the tremor roll through me.<\/p>\n

Not from fear.<\/p>\n

From adrenaline.<\/p>\n

The thing about surviving a moment like that isn\u2019t the moment itself.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s the crash afterward.<\/p>\n

The way your body, having sprinted through the fire, suddenly realizes you\u2019re sitting still and decides to replay everything.<\/p>\n

My scalp throbbed in jagged pulses.<\/p>\n

Beatrice\u2019s face as the coffee poured.<\/p>\n

Caleb\u2019s laugh.<\/p>\n

Maya\u2019s phone held high.<\/p>\n

I saw it all again in the span of two heartbeats.<\/p>\n

I closed my eyes and forced my thoughts somewhere else.<\/p>\n

Back.<\/p>\n

To twenty minutes earlier.<\/p>\n

To when this had just been brunch.<\/p>\n

Beatrice had insisted on the Obsidian Resort.<\/p>\n

Of course she had.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s where the regional board meets,\u201d she\u2019d said over the phone, her voice dripping with self satisfaction. \u201cWe\u2019ll get a good table. Very visible. If the Arts Council folks see us together, it will show unity.\u201d<\/p>\n

I hadn\u2019t asked why my presence mattered to her image that day.<\/p>\n

It was already unusual enough for her to invite me anywhere public that wasn\u2019t a holiday obligation.<\/p>\n

\u201cCaleb has big news about his business,\u201d she\u2019d added. \u201cAnd Maya needs content. You can at least do that much, Emma. Just show up.\u201d<\/p>\n

At least do that much.<\/p>\n

I had been halfway through reviewing a pull request when she called.<\/p>\n

My cabin\u2019s wood stove crackled quietly in the background, and snow tapped softly at the windows.<\/p>\n

My dog, Pixel, snored on the rug by my feet.<\/p>\n

I could have said no.<\/p>\n

I almost did.<\/p>\n

But there\u2019s a part of you, no matter how logically you know better, that still wants your mother to want you there.<\/p>\n

That still reaches for the Christmas card version of family, the one with the matching sweaters and shared laughter.<\/p>\n

Besides, I told myself, I\u2019d sold my company three weeks ago.<\/p>\n

The ink was dry, and the payout was sitting in accounts so large they didn\u2019t feel real yet.<\/p>\n

Maybe this brunch would be different.<\/p>\n

Maybe we could talk like adults.<\/p>\n

Maybe I could finally come clean.<\/p>\n

Ha.<\/p>\n

The Obsidian had been Beatrice\u2019s stomping grounds for years.<\/p>\n

She loved the terrace with its heated lamps and sweeping views of the lake.<\/p>\n

She loved that people saw her there, clinking glasses with board members and donors, air kissing other women in cashmere coats.<\/p>\n

When I arrived, she\u2019d already claimed a table near the railing.<\/p>\n

Her coat was draped just so over the back of her chair, label visible.<\/p>\n

Maya sat to her right, scrolling on her phone.<\/p>\n

Caleb was pacing, his thumb flying over his screen, checking whatever markets he pretended to care about that week.<\/p>\n

\u201cEm,\u201d he\u2019d said when he saw me, flashing that salesman smile that used to get him out of trouble with teachers. \u201cLook, she actually came.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHi, Mom,\u201d I\u2019d said, leaning in to brush my cheek against Beatrice\u2019s.<\/p>\n

Her skin smelled like expensive moisturizer and cold disapproval.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re late,\u201d she murmured, her lips barely moving. \u201cAnd what are you wearing? That hoodie looks cheap.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was a last minute invite,\u201d I replied evenly, taking my seat. \u201cI didn\u2019t realize there was a dress code.\u201d<\/p>\n

She pursed her lips, meaning: you should have known.<\/p>\n

Maya gave me a once over that felt like a TSA scan.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou could at least dress aspirational,\u201d she said. \u201cYou know how the lighting is here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe can\u2019t afford aspirational,\u201d Caleb joked, dropping back into his chair. \u201cShe lives in the woods, Maya. Thrift stores and flannel are their runway.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCabin,\u201d I corrected, reaching for my water. \u201cAnd flannel is warm.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCabin,\u201d Beatrice echoed, tasting the word like it was a cheap wine. \u201cHonestly, Emma. You\u2019re not a teenager at summer camp. You\u2019re almost thirty. Don\u2019t you ever think about security? Stability? You could have moved back home after college like your brother and sister. Saved. Built a real life.\u201d<\/p>\n

A real life.<\/p>\n

The waiter appeared then, and I clung to the interruption like a lifeline.<\/p>\n

Menus.<\/p>\n

Specials.<\/p>\n

Brunch cocktails.<\/p>\n

I ordered coffee and avocado toast without really listening.<\/p>\n

My scalp itched under my beanie, dry winter air, and I pushed it off, running a hand through my hair.<\/p>\n

That\u2019s when Caleb leaned across the table.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, so I\u2019m glad you came,\u201d he said, lowering his voice dramatically, like this was a movie and the plot was about to kick in. \u201cI wanted to talk to you about an opportunity.\u201d<\/p>\n

There it was.<\/p>\n

Not \u201cHow are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Not \u201cI\u2019m sorry I haven\u2019t called since forever.\u201d<\/p>\n

An opportunity.<\/p>\n

\u201cFor you,\u201d I said. \u201cOr for me?\u201d<\/p>\n

He laughed like I\u2019d made a joke.<\/p>\n

\u201cFor both of us. Win win. You know my luxury car dealership is doing crazy numbers, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

I knew he leased a nine hundred dollar a month vehicle and had posted at least three social media clips complaining about cheap customers who didn\u2019t understand luxury.<\/p>\n

I also knew he\u2019d borrowed money from Beatrice three times in the last year for inventory.<\/p>\n

\u201cBusiness is booming,\u201d he went on. \u201cBut inventory is tight. Supply chain crap. I\u2019ve got a line on some limited edition pieces that would take us to the next level, but I need capital. Just a bridge. Fifty thousand. Short term. I\u2019d pay you back in six months. Eight, tops.\u201d<\/p>\n

He said \u201cfifty thousand\u201d like other people said \u201cfifty dollars.\u201d<\/p>\n

Maya started filming her mimosa, the glass catching the light.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll tag the hotel,\u201d she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. \u201cThey might repost. We should get a family pic too. Like, before the food comes, before you spill anything.\u201d<\/p>\n

She side eyed me as if I routinely flung omelets around public spaces.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t do bridge loans,\u201d I said to Caleb quietly. \u201cEspecially not on brunch napkins.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not a napkin deal, Em.\u201d<\/p>\n

He laughed again, glancing toward Beatrice.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s family. You know mom\u2019s already in for some; she believes in me. You just have better credit.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ah.<\/p>\n

There it was.<\/p>\n

He had no idea that my better credit was the least interesting thing about my finances.<\/p>\n

I sipped my water.<\/p>\n

I imagined, briefly, what it would feel like to say it out loud.<\/p>\n

I sold my company.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m not your poor sister in a cabin.<\/p>\n

I could buy this hotel and turn your dealership into a parking lot, Caleb.<\/p>\n

But that fantasy came with a montage of reactions I didn\u2019t want to live through.<\/p>\n

Beatrice, suddenly sweet as honey, gushing about how proud she was, all while drafting a mental list of things she needed.<\/p>\n

Caleb, calculating exactly how much he could bleed from me before I set limits.<\/p>\n

Maya, turning me into boss sister content while quietly resenting every follower I got from it.<\/p>\n

They didn\u2019t want me.<\/p>\n

They wanted what I could give them.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said simply. \u201cI can\u2019t lend you money.\u201d<\/p>\n

His expression flickered.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean, you can\u2019t?\u201d he pressed. \u201cYou don\u2019t have fifty grand?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI mean I won\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

The smile dropped from his face like someone had cut a string.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re so selfish,\u201d he snapped. \u201cYou know mom pays for everything for us right now while we\u2019re building. Maya\u2019s got her coaching brand, I\u2019ve got the dealership, it\u2019s all future upside. You just sit in your little cabin coding in your pajamas. You can\u2019t even help family?\u201d<\/p>\n

Beatrice\u2019s fork clinked against her plate.<\/p>\n

\u201cCaleb,\u201d she said, loud enough for the neighboring table to hear. \u201cDon\u2019t pressure her. Emma is different. Not everyone is meant for success.\u201d<\/p>\n

The worst part was, she believed that.<\/p>\n

To her, success wasn\u2019t about building something.<\/p>\n

It was about being seen having it.<\/p>\n

I looked at the woman who had once cried because I\u2019d been accepted to a college out of state, because what will people think if my daughter leaves?<\/p>\n

I saw the teenagers she insisted into ballet and piano and lessons, not because we liked it, but because her friends\u2019 kids were doing them.<\/p>\n

Beatrice didn\u2019t understand my world.<\/p>\n

Sleep deprived hackathons, whiteboards covered in machine learning diagrams, the nauseating exhilaration of watching the first prototype flag a piece of extremist content correctly.<\/p>\n

Years of ramen and second hand laptops, of meeting with investors who looked at me like a curiosity before I made them very rich.<\/p>\n

She understood handbags.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom doesn\u2019t pay for me,\u201d I said quietly. \u201cI pay for me. I pay for everything I have.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have what?\u201d Caleb demanded. \u201cA truck and a shack? And you can\u2019t even help with a loan? God, you\u2019re pathetic.\u201d<\/p>\n

Maya\u2019s phone angled slightly toward us.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Part 1 of 3 \u201cYou selfish piece of trash.\u201d My mother\u2019s voice didn\u2019t just cut across the patio of the Obsidian Resort; it sliced the morning air in half. I watched the ceramic carafe tilt in her hand a split…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":7485,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-7480","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7480","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=7480"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7480\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7492,"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7480\/revisions\/7492"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/7485"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=7480"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=7480"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyintheworld.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=7480"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}