“No,” I said, turning to face him. “There’s nothing to fix. The house is sold. The money’s mine, and none of you get a say in what I do with it.”
That’s when my brother snapped.
“You’re being selfish, Evan. We all counted on that house. You knew Mom and Dad needed a place to stay when they came back. How could you just take that away?”
“Because it was never their house,” I said, my voice shaking now. “It was mine. Mine. And I’m allowed to choose who lives in it. I’m allowed to choose who I open my door to. And I’m allowed to close it when people use me and call me worthless when they think I can’t hear.”
I felt something in my chest loosen as the words came out, like I’d been holding my breath for years and was finally letting it go.
Dad just stared at me, his face unreadable now.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, he said, “If you walk away from this family, don’t expect us to be there for you when you come crawling back.”
I smiled.
Then really smiled for the first time in weeks.
“That’s the difference between us,” I said quietly. “I don’t need you to be there. I’m not crawling anywhere.”
I walked to the door and held it open.
“We’re done here.”
No one moved at first.
Then Mom stood, tears streaming down her face, and walked past me without saying a word. My aunt and uncle followed, looking uncomfortable. My brother glared at me, but didn’t speak.
Dad was the last one to leave. He paused in the doorway, staring at me like he was memorizing my face.
“You’ll regret this,” he said finally.
“Maybe,” I replied. “But at least the decision will be mine.”
And then he was gone.