[snorts] “You are really choosing a house over us.”
I shook my head.
“No. I am choosing myself over being used by you.”
My mother reached for me, but I stepped back.
That small movement hurt more than anything I said.
Maybe because it proved something had ended.
Not the argument.
Not the housing problem.
The role.
I was no longer the daughter who stayed close enough to be blamed.
They left in pieces.
My father first, reading the notice as he walked.
My mother next, crying into her sleeve.
Ryan paused at the steps and said, “I am sorry.”
I believed he meant it in that moment.
I also knew a moment was not a repair.
Kelsey was last.
She looked back at the porch, the windows, the brass number beside the door, and I could see she still wanted the house.
Not forgiveness.
Not family.
The house.
After they left, I changed the gate code again.
