When “Equal Sharing” Became Unfair

A family story about fairness, boundaries, and learning to share.

The new rule of absolute equality

My stepmom’s obsession with making us share everything equally backfired when I finally figured out how to use her own rule against her. When dad married Linda, she had a six-year-old son named Trevor. I was 14.

My brother Kyle was 12. At our first real family dinner after the wedding, Linda announced that her number one rule for our new household was absolute equality between siblings. “Everything gets shared equally,” she said, smiling at all three of us.

“That’s how you build a fair household.” At first, I thought she meant normal things. We would rotate who picked the movie. Nobody would get out of chores.

If dad brought home dessert, everyone got some. That sounded reasonable.

Birthday gifts and video games

Then my birthday came 3 weeks later. Dad gave me a $50 Barnes & Noble gift card. I barely had it in my hand before Linda reached across the table and took it from me.

I thought she wanted to look at it. Instead, she said, “Trevor doesn’t have a gift card.” I waited for the punchline. There wasn’t one, so you’ll split this one. $25 each.

I stared at her. But it’s my birthday present and Trevor is your brother now. It was given to me.

Linda smiled like she was explaining something simple to a toddler. We share in this family. I looked at Dad.

He looked at Linda. Then he shrugged and looked away. Just this once, he said.

Keep the peace. That became one of my least favorite phrases. Keep the peace.

It usually meant somebody had done something unfair and the person least likely to cause a scene was expected to swallow it. Trevor got $25 from my birthday card. He bought Captain Underpants books.

I bought two novels and had enough left for a bookmark. Trevor was six. He had no idea why any of this was happening.

He thanked me. That somehow made it worse. The next month, Grandma gave Kyle a new PlayStation game.

Kyle had been talking about it for weeks. Linda took the case before he could even put the disc in. You’ll share.

Kyle frowned. It’s a single player game. You can take turns.

He doesn’t even know how to play this. Trevor was on the floor pushing toy cars around. Linda’s expression went cold.

Are you saying Trevor isn’t as smart as you? Kyle immediately looked panicked. No, because he’s younger.

I’m saying the game is for older kids. Trevor can learn so Linda made a schedule. Kyle got Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Trevor got Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Sunday was supposedly for family activities. There was one problem.

Trevor had absolutely no interest in the game. On his first Tuesday, Kyle showed him how to play. Trevor lasted maybe 8 minutes before putting the controller down and going outside.

Kyle picked it up. Linda walked past the room. It’s Trevor’s day.

He’s not playing. That doesn’t matter. Kyle thought she was kidding.

She wasn’t. The game sat untouched for the rest of the afternoon. Thursday, same thing.

Saturday, Trevor never turned the console on. Kyle still wasn’t allowed to play. Fair is fair, Linda said.

A month later, my youth group gave me a $30 Starbucks card for volunteering at a food drive. Linda saw it when I came home. Perfect.

I should have known that word meant trouble. She took the card. Trevor gets half.

I stared at her. He’s six. So, he doesn’t drink coffee.

Linda rolled her eyes. They sell hot chocolate. It’s mine.

Equality, sweetie. Sweetie became another word I started hating. She always said it when she was doing something she knew I didn’t like.

I went to dad that night. He was in the garage organizing tools. Can you please tell Linda to stop taking my stuff?

He sighed before I had even finished. She’s trying to make Trevor feel included. He can feel included without getting half of everything I own.

You and Kyle already have a bond. Trevor’s coming into a new family. That doesn’t make my birthday present his.

Dad rubbed his forehead. You’re 14. He’s six.

Can you be the mature one here? That was another pattern. Whenever Linda wanted something from us, suddenly our ages mattered.

Whenever we pointed out that Trevor was too young for something, age magically stopped mattering. After that, I started refusing gifts. My aunt tried to give me $20 one weekend.

I told her to keep it. Grandma asked what books I wanted for Christmas. I said I didn’t need anything.

One of dad’s friends offered me a gift card for helping him organize old paperwork. I said no. People thought I had become weirdly humble.

Really, I was tired of watching everything get divided. Kyle started hiding cash. If grandma gave him $10, it went into his sock drawer before Linda saw it.

That lasted until she found it while putting laundry away. Then we got a lecture about secrecy.

When sharing only went one way

But Linda’s equality rule had a strange feature. It only worked in one direction. When Trevor’s grandparents sent him $100 for his birthday, Linda put it directly into his savings account.

Kyle asked, “Aren’t we splitting it?” Linda looked offended. That came from Trevor’s grandparents. So it’s from his side of the family.

Kyle looked at me. I looked at him. Neither of us said anything.

When Linda bought Trevor new shoes, nobody checked whether Kyle and I had new shoes. When Trevor’s aunt sent him a giant building set, it stayed in his room. When his grandmother mailed him a box of candy, Linda wrote Trevor on it in black marker so nobody else would eat any.

Apparently, equality could read labels.

Half of my study desk

The worst part started about 8 months into the marriage. I had a big desk in my bedroom. Dad bought it years earlier when I started middle school.

Nothing fancy, just a wide wooden desk with drawers. By 14, I used it every night. I was taking honors algebra, biology, English, history, and Spanish.

I always had something due. Trevor’s bedroom was smaller than mine. One Saturday, Linda walked into my room carrying a plastic bin full of crayons, markers, coloring books, and construction paper.

She put it on my desk. What’s that? Trevor’s art supplies.

Why are they here? He doesn’t have enough desk space. He doesn’t have a desk.

Exactly. I stared at her. Then she said, “So, we’re dividing yours.

” I thought I had misunderstood. You’re giving Trevor half of my desk, half the surface area. You still have plenty.

I use all of it. You don’t need all of it. That afternoon, she put masking tape down the center.

One side was mine. One side was Trevors. She even made little labels with our names.

My half had my laptop, textbooks, calculator, notebook, and lamp. Trevor’s half had coloring books, stickers, crayons, scissors, and a plastic cup full of markers. The first night, I had to stack two textbooks on the floor.

Trevor came in while I was working. He colored, hummed, tapped his feet, asked questions every 30 seconds. What are you doing?

Algebra. Why are there letters in math? I don’t know how to explain that.

Can I use your ruler? No. Mom says we share.

I gave him the ruler. 20 minutes later, he knocked over the marker cup. A blue marker rolled across my worksheet and left a line through two equations. I snapped.

Trevor, can you please go color somewhere else? His face fell. Linda appeared in the doorway almost immediately.

What did you say to him? I asked him to color somewhere else. This is his desk, too.

It’s my room. His supplies have a designated space here. I’m trying to study.

He’s being quiet. He’s asking me questions constantly. He’s six.

I looked at her. Exactly. Her face hardened.

What is that supposed to mean? It means maybe he doesn’t need half the study desk of someone in high school. You’re not more important because you’re older.

I never said I was. You implied it. Dad heard the argument and appeared behind her.

I asked, “Can I study at the dining room table?” Linda answered before him, “If you get the dining room, Trevor gets equal access. He already has access. There’s only one table.

I’m not asking to own it. You already have a desk. Half a desk?

That’s plenty.” Dad gave me the same tired expression. Can we please not turn this into a huge fight? So, I went back to my half.

Over the next couple of months, my grades started slipping. Not because Trevor was deliberately sabotaging me. It was more boring than that.

I couldn’t focus. If I studied in my room, he came in because Linda had officially made part of the room his space. If I used the dining table, Linda reminded me that I couldn’t spread my things out because everyone needed equal access.

If I went to the living room, the television was on. I started doing homework on my bed, then on the floor. Sometimes I stayed late at school.

I missed assignments. I failed an algebra test, then a biology quiz. By the time my algebra grade dropped to a D, Dad noticed.

What’s happening with school? We were at dinner. Linda looked up, too.

I’m having trouble studying. Dad frowned. You’ve never had trouble before.

I know, Linda said. Maybe spend less time on your phone. I almost exploded.

Instead, I looked at my plate.

Putting the rule to the test

That was when something clicked. I had spent 8 months trying to prove Linda’s rule was unfair. That never worked.

She always had another explanation. Trevor was younger. Trevor felt excluded.

Trevor was our brother now. Kyle and I were older and should be generous. So, I stopped arguing that the rule was unfair.

I decided to follow it. Exactly. The opportunity came that Friday.

Trevor brought home a permission slip for a school trip to the aquarium. It cost $47. Linda asked Dad for the money during dinner.

Of course, Dad said, reaching for his wallet. I looked up. Wait, everyone looked at me.

Is Kyle going on a field trip, too? Linda frowned. No, he’s in a different grade.

But if Trevor gets $47 for a school trip, shouldn’t Kyle get $47, too? Linda’s face tightened. Dad froze with his wallet open.

That’s different, she said. How? It’s a school trip.

I nodded. And my birthday gift was a birthday gift. That’s not the same thing.

You said it didn’t matter why one person got something. You said equality meant nobody should feel left out. Kyle was watching me now.

He understood. He looked at Dad. So, if Trevor gets $47, I should get 47, too.

Linda glared at him. Don’t encourage this, Kyle said. I’m just following the rule.

Dad looked at Linda. You did say everything should be shared equally. Her face went red.

Fine. Give Kyle $47. I smiled.

Great. And I get 47, too. Linda stared at me.

You are not going on a field trip. Neither is Kyle. That’s different.

How? Kyle only said that because you manipulated him into it. Kyle looked offended.

I can think by myself. I said, “You said if one kid gets something, the others should get an equal amount so nobody feels left out. If Kyle gets $47 just for fairness, I should, too.” The table went silent.

Absolute equality, I said. “That’s the rule.” Linda stared at me like I had just set the kitchen on fire. Dad slowly closed his wallet, then opened it again.

She has a point. Linda turned toward him. No, she doesn’t.

You did split her birthday card. That was different. You keep saying that, I said.

She looked at me. I continued. I actually needed my whole birthday present.

Kyle actually wanted his own game, but you said what we wanted didn’t matter because equality was more important. Linda stood up so quickly, her chair scraped backward. This is ridiculous.

Trevor actually needs the money for school. And I needed my birthday gift. That was months ago, so the rule expired.

Stop twisting my words. I’m using them. Linda walked away from the table.

Dad sat there for a moment. Then he gave Trevor $47 for the trip. He gave Kyle $47.

And after looking at me for a few seconds, he gave me 47, too.

The exceptions begin

Linda barely spoke to me for 3 days. I assumed that would be the end. It wasn’t.

The rule didn’t disappear. Linda simply started inventing exceptions. A week later, she bought Trevor a pair of expensive sneakers he had been begging for.

He ran upstairs to show us. Kyle looked at the shoes, then at Linda. What days are mine?

Trevor laughed. Linda did not. What are you talking about?

The shoes? They’re Trevors. Kyle nodded.

Which days do I wear them? You don’t. Why?

Shoes are personal. I looked up from my book. Good to know.

Linda turned toward me. Do not start. I’m not starting anything, Kyle said.

So personal items don’t have to be shared. Linda crossed her arms. Obviously.

Kyle smiled. Like video games? her face tightened. “That is different birthday gift cards.” “Enough,” I said.

“We’re just trying to understand.” “You understand perfectly.” “Exactly.” We finally did. A few days later, Trevor’s grandmother sent him $20 in a card. Linda handed it directly to him.

I said, “Do we divide family gifts or not?” She closed her eyes. That came from his grandmother. Dad gave me the Barnes & Noble card.

You are not getting Trevor’s money. I don’t want Trevor’s money. That was important.

Neither Kyle nor I actually wanted to take anything from him. Trevor was a little kid. He had never created the rule.

Half the time he looked uncomfortable when Linda handed him something of ours. I said, “I want to know which rule applies next time somebody gives me money.” Linda said, “Your gifts are yours.” It came out fast. I blinked.

What? She realized what she had said. Kyle did too.

He smiled. Can we get that in writing? Linda stormed out.

Taking back my study space

The next test was the desk. Trevor was at a friend’s house one Saturday. I carried my algebra book, notebook, and laptop into his bedroom.

He had a little plastic activity table by the window. I moved his crayons to one half and started working on the other. Linda found me there.

What are you doing? Studying in Trevor’s room? Yes.

She pointed at my books. Why? I’m using my half.

You don’t have a half. I looked at her. So bedrooms are private.

Of course they are. Mine isn’t. That stopped her.

She glanced toward my room. I continued. Trevor has half my desk because he needs art space.

I need study space, so I’m using half of his table. That’s completely different. How?

You have your own desk. So does he. That little thing.

He’s six. Linda crossed her arms. You’re mocking me.

That was the first time she said it out loud. If I applied her rule to Trevor, suddenly the rule looked ridiculous enough to qualify as mockery. I’m following your rule.

No, you’re trying to make a point. Yes. Dad came home in the middle of the argument.

Linda told him I had invaded Trevor’s bedroom. Dad looked at my books on the little table, then at me. What are you doing in here?

Studying. You have a desk. I stared at him.

Do I? His face changed. I walked him into my bedroom.

The masking tape was still down the middle. Trevor’s side had crayons, markers, coloring books, stickers, construction paper, and two toy dinosaurs. My side had a laptop, three books stacked on top of each other, a calculator, and a notebook partly hanging off the edge.

Dad stood in the doorway. This is what you’re using for school. Yes.

Linda appeared behind him. She has plenty of space. I opened one drawer.

Construction paper, another coloring books. Half the storage had been given away, too. Dad looked at Linda.

Why? Because Trevor didn’t have a proper art area. Dad stared at the desk again.

Then he started removing the masking tape. Linda’s expression changed. What are you doing giving her desk back?

David, she’s failing algebra. Linda looked at me. That has nothing to do with the desk.

Dad said, “She has never failed a class. She needs better study habits.” I almost laughed. Dad picked up Trevor’s plastic bin.

We can put this in the dining room. Linda stared at him. So now her needs are more important.

She has homework and Trevor doesn’t matter because he’s six. Dad looked exhausted. Nobody said that.

I said, “That’s the problem.” They both looked at me. Every time somebody tells Trevor no, you turn it into us saying he doesn’t matter. Linda’s face went cold.

I am trying to make sure he feels like part of this family, and you keep doing that by taking things from us. I am teaching you to share. No, you’re teaching us that anything we have can become Trevors if he wants it.

That is not true. Kyle appeared in the hallway. It kind of is, Linda looked at him. he added.

But nothing Trevor has becomes ours. Dad rubbed his forehead. For once, he did not tell us to stop.

He took Trevor’s bin downstairs. I got my desk back. My grades didn’t magically recover overnight.

But I could actually work again. Within a month, the D in algebra became a C. Then a B minus.

My biology grade recovered, too. Dad noticed. So did Linda.

She never mentioned it.

Trevor’s birthday exposes the double standard

Then Trevor’s seventh birthday arrived. His grandparents came. His aunt came.

Our grandparents came. There were balloons everywhere. Trevor opened a giant building set, a basketball hoop, clothes, gift cards.

Then his grandparents handed him a handheld gaming console. He screamed. He was thrilled.

And honestly, I was happy for him. Kyle looked at me. I knew exactly what he was thinking.

I gave him a warning look. Don’t. He lasted about 30 seconds.

Linda was helping Trevor open the box when Kyle said, “So, what’s the schedule?” The room went quiet. Linda looked up. What schedule for the console?

I covered my face. Kyle continued. I had Monday, Wednesday, Friday.

Trevor had Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday. Are we doing alternating days again? Linda’s face turned red.

This is Trevor’s birthday present. Kyle nodded. So, birthday presents belong to the person whose birthday it is.

Dad stopped moving. Grandma looked between them. Linda said, “You know this is different.” Kyle asked, “Why?

Because Trevor is seven.” “I was 12.” “That’s not what I mean.” Grandma frowned. What happened when Kyle was 12? Nobody answered fast enough.

Kyle did. You gave me that game last year. Grandma nodded.

I remember. Linda made me share it with Trevor on alternating days. Grandma looked surprised.

What? Linda jumped in. We were encouraging them to bond.

Trevor, still holding the new console, said, “I didn’t like Kyle’s game. I bit the inside of my cheek. Grandma looked at me.

Did she do this with your presence, too?” Linda said, “This is not the time.” And for once, I agreed. It’s Trevor’s birthday. Can we not do this now?

Kyle looked at me, then at Trevor. Yeah. He dropped it.

That should have saved Linda. Then Trevor’s grandmother handed him a birthday card containing $100. Linda smiled.

Let me put that somewhere safe for you. I didn’t ask for any of it. I didn’t want any of it.

I just asked. So birthday money is personal now. Linda froze.

Dad closed his eyes. I continued. Because I’m fine with that.

I just want to know what the rule is. Linda stared at me. You’ve been waiting all day to do this.

No, I actually told Kyle to stop. Then stop. I don’t want Trevor’s money.

Then why are you talking? Because when it was my birthday, you said my gift wasn’t really mine because Trevor was family. Now it’s Trevor’s birthday and suddenly everyone understands personal ownership.

The adults around the table went quiet. Linda looked embarrassed. That was new.

Before these arguments had always happened when it was just us. Now, grandma was there. Trevor’s grandparents were there.

Dad’s sister was there. Linda said, “You are 14 years old and trying to ruin a seven-year-old’s birthday.” “No.” I looked at Trevor. Trevor, I don’t want your money.

He nodded. He looked confused more than upset. Then I looked back at Linda.

I just want the same rule when it’s my birthday. Dad finally said, “That’s fair.” Linda turned to him. “David.” He shook his head.

“No, she’s right.” The room got even quieter. Dad continued. We shouldn’t have taken her gift card.

Linda stared at him. And we shouldn’t have made Kyle share Grandma’s game on a schedule. Grandma said, “No, you shouldn’t have.” That was the first time somebody outside our house had directly challenged Linda.

Her face went bright red. She stood. I am not doing this in front of Trevor.

Then she walked into the kitchen. Nobody followed her immediately. Trevor looked at me.

Do I have to share my game? No. His face relaxed.

Kyle said, “Definitely not. That mattered. The whole point was never to make Trevor suffer under the same stupid system.

It was to make Linda admit that the system was stupid.

A family conversation and new rules

That night, after everyone left, Dad called me and Kyle into the kitchen. Linda was sitting at the table. Trevor was upstairs playing his new game.

Dad said, “We need to settle this. ” Linda crossed her arms. “I agree.” Dad looked at me.

“Tell me what you think the problem is.” Linda immediately said, “She thinks I favor Trevor.” Dad looked at her. I asked her. That was new.

I took a breath. I don’t think the rule is equality. Linda rolled her eyes.

I continued. When I got birthday money, Trevor got half. Linda started to interrupt.

Dad raised his hand. When Kyle got a game, Trevor got half the time. Kyle added, “Even when he didn’t want it.

When Trevor gets birthday money, it’s his.” Linda said, “Because it came from his family. Dad is my family.” She went quiet. When Trevor needs desk space, he gets half mine.

When I use half of his table, I’m invading his room. Linda looked furious. When Trevor gets shoes, they’re personal.

When I get a gift card, it becomes communal. Then I said the thing that had been bothering me for months. You didn’t make Trevor equal to us.

Linda stared at me. You made everything ours partly his while everything his stayed completely his. Nobody spoke.

Kyle nodded. Dad leaned back. Linda said, “That is not true.” Kyle started listing examples.

My game, my birthday gift card, my Starbucks card, my desk, Kyle added. My headphones. I turned toward him.

What? Last month, she said Trevor could use them with his tablet. Linda snapped.

They were sitting there. Kyle laughed. They were sitting on my dresser.

That’s where my stuff sits. Dad rubbed both hands over his face. Then Linda finally said what I think had been underneath everything.

You two don’t understand. Her voice had changed. less angry, more desperate. Trevor came into a family where you already had everything.

I waited. You had years alone with your father. You had your rooms, traditions, grandparents, inside jokes, photos everywhere.

People who have known you since you were born. She looked toward the stairs. He walked into all of that as the new kid.

For the first time, I understood what she thought she was doing. That didn’t make it okay. But I understood it, she continued.

I did not want him growing up feeling like he was less important. I said, “Then give him things that are his.” She looked at me. Make traditions with him.

Let him build his own relationship with dad. Let us build one with him. I pointed toward the ceiling.

But giving him half of my birthday gift doesn’t make him my brother. Kyle said, “It just makes me mad at him for stuff he didn’t even do. That hit harder.

” Linda looked at him. Kyle continued, “Trevor doesn’t ask for half my stuff. You give it to him.” Nobody said anything.

Then dad spoke. I should have stopped this earlier. Linda turned toward him.

You agreed with me. I know. He looked at me.

And every time they complained, I told them to keep the peace. He sounded ashamed. That was easier than arguing with you.

Linda looked hurt. Dad continued. But easy wasn’t fair.

For once, nobody used the word equality. Dad made new rules that night. Birthday gifts belong to the person who received them.

Money from relatives belong to the person who received it. Personal belongings were personal unless the owner chose to share. Shared household things would actually be shared.

Nobody was entitled to somebody else’s bedroom space. Chores would be based on age and ability, not forced into identical amounts. Linda hated almost every sentence.

But dad did not back down. The strangest part was Trevor barely noticed. The next day, he colored at the dining room table.

He seemed perfectly happy. He didn’t ask where his half of my desk went. He didn’t demand access to Kyle’s game.

He didn’t complain that I kept my things, which proved something Linda should have realized months earlier. Trevor had never needed her rule. She did.

What real sharing looks like

Things became quieter after that. Not perfect. Linda still had habits.

One afternoon, she saw me eating a candy bar and said, “Did you get one for Trevor?” I looked at her. She stopped herself. Never mind.

Another time, Dad brought Kyle home a new baseball glove because his old one ripped. Linda opened her mouth, then closed it. Trevor said, “Can I see it?” Kyle handed it to him.

Trevor tried it on, then gave it back. That was sharing. Nobody needed a schedule.

A birthday gift, finally mine

A few months later, my next birthday came around. I had been waiting for it more than I wanted to admit. Not because I expected anything expensive.

I just wanted to see what happened. Dad gave me a card. Inside was a $50 Barnes & Noble gift card.

Exactly the same amount as the year before. I looked at him. He smiled.

Thought we could try this again. I laughed. Thanks.

Linda was sitting across the table. Her eyes moved toward the card, then toward me. For half a second, nobody spoke.

Kyle ruined it. He said, “Aren’t we splitting it?” Dad almost choked. Trevor looked interested.

Linda stared at Kyle. “No. ” Kyle blinked innocently.

“No, it’s her birthday present.” He nodded slowly. “Oh.” I looked at Linda. “Good, just checking.” She gave me a look, not angry, exactly, more like she knew she had earned that.

Trevor asked, “What books are you getting?” I told him. Then he said, “Can I come?” That surprised me. To the bookstore?

Yeah. I shrugged. “Sure.

” He brought his own money. He bought another Captain Underpants book. I bought three books because this time I had the whole gift card.

On the way home, Trevor was reading in the back seat. I realized something. I didn’t resent him.

I had spent months thinking I did. But once Linda stopped using him as the reason I couldn’t have boundaries, he was just Trevor, a slightly annoying little kid who asked too many questions. basically a younger brother. Kyle eventually started letting him watch while he played PlayStation.

Not because Linda required it, because Trevor liked sitting there sometimes. And when Trevor wanted to try a game, Kyle handed him the controller. No schedule, no alternating days, no fake equality, just normal sharing.

Linda and I never had some huge emotional reconciliation. She didn’t sit me down and admit that I had been right about everything. She still occasionally described that first year as a difficult adjustment period.

I called it the dictatorship of fairness once. Dad laughed. Linda didn’t.

But she never took another birthday gift. She never divided our money. She never gave Trevor one of our things without asking first.

And she stopped using the word equality every time someone had something somebody else didn’t.

The lesson that lasted

About a year later, Trevor came home with another field trip form. This one was for a science museum. He dropped it on the kitchen counter.

Mom, I need $32. Linda reached for her purse. Kyle was sitting beside me doing homework.

He looked at me. I looked at him. Neither of us said anything.

Linda noticed. She slowly turned toward us. No.

Kyle smiled. We didn’t say anything. You were going to.

I wasn’t. You absolutely were. I said, “We’ve grown.” Linda gave us both a suspicious look.

Then Trevor asked, “Why are they smiling?” Linda handed him the money. Long story. Kyle said, “It’s about equality.” Linda pointed toward him.

Not one word. Trevor shrugged and walked away. Dad was laughing into his coffee.

That was probably the moment I knew the lesson had actually stuck. Linda’s rule had lasted because it was easy for her when the cost always landed on somebody else. My birthday money, Kyle’s game, my desk, our time, our things.

The second the same logic required her to hand out extra money, divide Trevor’s possessions, or explain the rule in front of other adults, suddenly there were exceptions everywhere. School expenses were different. Shoes were personal.

Birthday presents belong to the birthday kid. Bedrooms were private. Family gifts belong to whoever received them.

Basically, she spent weeks inventing the exact boundaries Kyle and I had been asking for all along. She just didn’t realize that was what she was doing. And that was the part I enjoyed most.

I never had to convince her that her rule was unfair.