I looked at him.
“Childish?”
“You made one disagreement into a financial punishment.”
“No. I stopped volunteering my money.”
Olivia folded her arms.
“Let’s be real. You’re mad because Mom and Dad didn’t leave you anything.”
I looked at my father.
He did not defend me.
I looked at my mother.
She waited as though I was supposed to confess.
Something in me finally settled.
I had come hoping for one sign that any of them understood.
There was none.
I stood.
“I came because I thought maybe one of you had realized what happened at that dinner.”
My mother’s face tightened.
“I know exactly what happened. You embarrassed everyone.”
I almost smiled, but there was nothing funny about it.
“No. I asked why I was expected to keep paying for people who treated me like an outsider.”
Parker shook his head.
“There you go again with the money.”
“Yes,” I said. “Because the only time any of you care whether I’m part of this family is when the money stops.”
That finally silenced the room.
I picked up my bag.
My mother stood.
“If you walk out again, don’t expect to be welcomed back.”
My hand closed around the doorknob.
“I’m not asking to come back.”
Then I left.
I drove home with my phone face down on the passenger seat.
I did not cry this time.
I did not replay the argument.
I was simply tired.
When I reached my apartment building and walked down the hallway, I stopped several feet from my door.
At first, I could not understand what I was looking at.
Gray-white foam bulged around the door frame. It had hardened into thick ridges along the edges, sealing the door shut.
My bag slipped lower on my shoulder.
Someone had deliberately covered the frame with expanding foam.
I stepped closer.
There was no accidental explanation for it.
I could not open my own front door.
For a few seconds, I stood perfectly still, listening to the hum of the hallway lights.
Then I took out my phone and opened the security-camera app.
I rewound the footage.
A figure appeared.
Gray hoodie.
Baseball cap pulled low.
A can in one hand.
He moved with an easy confidence that made recognition immediate.
Parker.
I watched him approach my door and begin spraying the foam around the frame.
He looked pleased with himself.
I watched the clip again.
Then I saved it.
I took screenshots that clearly showed his face.
My anger was different this time. At dinner, I had still wanted to be understood. Standing in that hallway, I no longer cared whether Parker understood me.