Chapter 1: The Game Begins

The screen door slammed behind me, and the smell of cut grass and charcoal hit me all at once—this was summer in Ohio. The air was thick and humid, the kind of day when your shirt sticks to your back and everyone in Maple Heights comes out for a family get-together. My oldest cousin Ethan wasted no time dragging my dad into a poker game.

It was a classic Ohio summer Sunday: the sticky smell of fresh-cut grass, the screen door slapping, and family spread all over Uncle Dave’s deck, sipping store-brand cola and talking over each other. I watched as my dad, still in his old blue work shirt, got pulled into the dining room where Ethan had already set up a worn felt poker table—his latest status symbol since moving out to the suburbs. A couple of uncles drifted over, ribbing each other about the Browns' chances next season. I could feel the tension coiling even before the cards were shuffled.

By the time we’d finished eating—turkey sandwiches and potato salad—my dad had lost all our family’s savings: over a million dollars. In the end, he sank to his knees, clutching Ethan’s pant leg, his voice cracking as he pleaded.

It was surreal, hearing those words come out of his mouth while the TV buzzed in the next room and my aunt hollered at the little kids to stop running indoors. Dad never begged for anything, not even when the plant laid him off that one winter. I’d always believed he was invincible—he taught me cards at the kitchen table, told me to never fold under pressure. Now, seeing him like this, it felt like the air had left the house—everybody was frozen, except Ethan, grinning like the cat who ate the canary.

My cousin slapped three hundred-dollar bills onto my dad’s face and sneered, “Uncle, out of respect for you as family, here’s your bus fare home.”

The slap of those bills echoed in the silence. My dad’s face went beet-red, and nobody could look at him. I wanted to punch Ethan right then, but all I could do was ball my fists under the table. Aunt Linda made a noise like she was going to say something, but then just turned away, pretending to fuss with the serving spoons.

Watching my dad get humiliated, I shot my oldest cousin a cold glare. “Ethan, let me play a few rounds with you.”

I said it louder than I meant to, my voice sharp enough that the cousins in the kitchen stopped whispering and glanced over. In that moment, I realized everyone was waiting to see if I’d actually step up—or just slink out with my parents. I wasn’t about to let Ethan be the last word in this family.