My brother took my ATM card on a Thursday, but the truth was he had been reaching for my life long before he ever slid his hand into my coat pocket. By the time I understood what he had done, he wasn’t just stealing money. He was acting out the oldest family belief I had ever been taught: what was mine was negotiable, what was his was sacred, and if I objected loudly enough, I would be punished until I learned the shape of my place again.