Chapter 1: Smashed by Family, Betrayed by Blood

I got up in the middle of the night to grab a glass of water, and she accused me of creeping on her. Next thing I knew, she smashed a heavy glass ashtray over my head and sent me straight—no detours—to the ICU.

It was one of those old, thick crystal ashtrays—something my dad probably kept around since the '80s, solid enough to double as a murder weapon. The pain hit sharp and bright, then everything just vanished. Everything reeked of old smoke, the stench clinging to the carpet as I blacked out—the taste of blood in my mouth, and the sound of my sister-in-law's panicked shrieks ringing in my ears—then, nothing.

I suffered a brain bleed and was left paralyzed on one side, disabled for life. Just like that, half my body stopped working. Forever.

The doctors said I was lucky to be alive, but I sure didn’t feel lucky. I spent months learning to use a wheelchair, relearning how to talk without slurring, and watching my old life slip away, one bland hospital meal at a time. The ceiling tiles in the rehab center became more familiar than my own bedroom ever was.

But because my sister-in-law was pregnant, everyone in the family took her side—even blamed me for not being more careful. Go figure.

Family always circles the wagons around a pregnant woman. Didn’t matter that I was the one bleeding out on the kitchen floor. They whispered that I should’ve known better, that a man ought to be more mindful. I heard every bit of it from my hospital bed—the murmurs and side-eyes when they thought I was asleep. Not one of them came clean.

“She just married into the family. You scared her, and you’ve got the nerve to complain?”

Uncle Ray said that one, shaking his head like I was the biggest disappointment he’d ever seen. He always did have a way of making a person feel two inches tall. That was his specialty, like he was handing out life lessons at every backyard barbecue.

“She’s carrying the next generation. If anything happens to her, you’re done for!”

Aunt Linda chimed in, clutching her rosary beads, lips moving in a whispered prayer—even though she hadn’t set foot in a church in years. She kept muttering, eyes darting around, and I couldn’t help but think, ‘Lady, save it for someone who buys your act.’

I was just an afterthought, a cautionary tale nobody wanted to claim. They’d already written me off—might as well have hung a sign around my neck: “Don’t end up like this guy.”

Later, after my nephew was born, my sister-in-law accused me of peeking at her while she was breastfeeding, and she and my brother ganged up on me and tossed me out.

Didn’t matter that the house was in my name, or that I couldn’t even walk without help. I became the black sheep, the family’s dirty secret. My brother couldn’t look me in the eye as he packed my bag, but my sister-in-law watched me with this satisfied little smirk. The baby wailed in the background—a soundtrack to my exile. I remember thinking, 'Perfect. Just perfect.'

I wandered the streets in a daze. I didn’t even see it coming. I was hit and killed by a semi-truck.

The night was cold and wet—the kind of Midwest rain that soaks you straight through. I barely noticed the headlights until it was too late—a blaring horn, the screech of brakes, and then nothing but silence. Funny, how quick it all ends. Blink and you’re gone.

Only after my death did I learn they’d taken out a life insurance policy on me, just waiting to cash in and live large.

I watched them from the cheap seats in the sky, laughing and drinking in the living room, toasting their good fortune. The insurance check was more than enough to wipe out my brother’s debts and buy my sister-in-law a brand-new SUV. For the first time, I saw their true faces—smiling, relieved, free of me. Like I’d never mattered at all.