Every yes had taught them to expect another one.
Every swallowed insult had taught them my silence meant permission.
Every emergency they created had somehow become mine to solve.
At 10:16 p.m., my mother texted me privately.
“Your Father Says You Are Being Dramatic. I Told Him You Are Just Tired. Call Me Tomorrow And We Will Fix This.”
I screenshotted it.
Then I put the phone away.
Outside, a heron stood still near the dock, one thin leg in the water, patient as a secret.
I watched it for a long time.
It did not chase the fish.
It waited until the fish came close enough.
Part 3
By Wednesday morning, my mother had created a second group chat called Lake Weekend Crew.
She did not add me.
My cousin Elowen did.
Elowen was nineteen, a sophomore at NC State, and one of the few people in my family who still had a working conscience. At 6:12 a.m., she sent me screenshots with one message.
“Arden, I Do Not Think They Know You Said No. Or They Do Not Care. I Thought You Should See This.”
I sat at my kitchen island with black coffee and opened the screenshots.
The second chat was worse than the first.
In the main chat, my parents had pretended this was a casual family weekend.
In the private chat, they had planned an occupation.
My mother had made a spreadsheet.
A real spreadsheet.
There were tabs labeled Meals, Sleeping Assignments, Activities, Airport Pickups, and Arden Duties.
I clicked on Arden Duties.
My stomach turned.
“Stock Fridge For Twenty People.”
“Wash All Linens.”
“Have Boat Fueled.”
“Set Out Porch Bedding.”
“Buy Oat Milk For Sable.”
“Pick Up Aunt Liora And Uncle Penn At Charlotte Airport.”
“Place Fresh Flowers In Main Bedroom.”
“Stay Out Of Main Bedroom And Main Bathroom During Visit.”
I read that last line four times.
Stay out.
Of my own bedroom.
In my own house.
I forwarded everything to Soraya.
She replied eight minutes later.
“This Is Excellent Evidence. Do Not Respond.”
So I did not.
Instead, I went grocery shopping for myself. I bought eggs, coffee, chicken, strawberries, a frozen pizza, and a chocolate cake from a bakery in Davidson that usually had a wedding waitlist. I put the cake in my freezer and promised myself that Friday evening, no matter what happened, I would eat a slice at my own table.
While I was putting groceries away, my phone rang.
Mom.
I let it go to voicemail.
