“You treat me like a burden,” she hissed. “You think a few payments give you the right to judge us.”
“You’re arrogant.”
I thought of the overtime shifts.
The canceled plans.
The vacations I never took.
The nights I cried in a bathroom stall at work and then went back out smiling.
She wasn’t done.
“Trevor is the only one I can rely on,” she added, chin lifted like she was proud of it.
“He never holds anything over my head. He has a heart. You don’t.”
Trevor.
The one who never helped.
Something in my chest twisted — not anger yet.
Devastation.
Then she delivered the final blow.
“Get your belongings from the guest room,” she said. “You’re done here. I want you gone by Saturday.”
I left with my thoughts spinning.
On the drive home, I tried to excuse her behavior.
Maybe she was overwhelmed.
Maybe Trevor poisoned her view.
Maybe she didn’t realize what she was doing.
I was still making excuses right up until moving day.
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