At 1:17 a.m., I found my brother's post asking how to train a live-in servant. The photo beneath it showed me carrying his coat at our family's winter benefit, my face turned away from the camera. He'd written that I was "useful once I understood my place." By breakfast, the post had been deleted, but the screenshot had already reached my mother, who ran the family hotel company and still believed Caleb could become a decent man if someone gave him enough chances. I asked her to raise five more sons. I meant it as a joke, until she asked what kind of home I thought those boys deserved. Now I have to decide whether I want to take my brother's place, or help my mother build a family where no one has to earn the right to belong.