When I Moved Into My First House, I Came Home One Night To Find My Parents Sitting In The Living Room. When I Asked Why, My Mom Smiled And Said: “We’ll Treat It Like A Family Place Now.” I Didn’t Argue.

I didn’t move. “We’re already talking.”

She sighed. “You can’t just throw your family out.

We gave you everything.”

I turned to look at her. “Everything? You gave me a trash bag full of clothes and a bill for the broken washing machine when I left for trade school.”

Her lips tightened.

“You lived here rentree for 18 years.”

“I was a kid, Mom. That’s not rent. That’s parenting.”

She swallowed hard.

“We were trying our best.”

“No,” I said quietly. “You were trying your best with Natalie. The rest of us were just background furniture.”

Her mouth opened, then closed again.

For a second, she looked smaller. But the moment passed. It always did.

Inside, Natalie’s voice rose over the hum of the house. She was on the phone, calling one relative after another. “Unbelievable,” she said.

“Carrie’s gone rogue. She’s evicting us like we’re strangers. Yes, she’s serious.

No, it’s not anything like that. It’s worse. She’s organized.”

Through the thin walls, I heard Aunt Dana’s voice on speaker.

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