Then I saw my TV blasting at full volume.
My furniture being treated like a basement couch.
And my sister changing outfits in the mirror like my home was her personal dressing room.
I pulled the plug on the TV.
Her husband finally looked up and had the nerve to get angry.
“What is your problem?”
I kept my voice low.
“You stole $13,700 from me.”
My father shuffled into the room and did what he always did—tried to soften it.
“It’s already paid. Just let them go. Let them have this one nice thing.”
That was the betrayal inside the betrayal.
Not just the theft.
The expectation that I would swallow it.
And then my sister’s husband laughed.
“This is why you’re single,” he said. “You’re uptight. Loosen up.”
That’s when the Uber honked.
And my mother started clapping like she’d orchestrated a cute little family moment.
They walked out with their luggage.
My mother tossed one last instruction over her shoulder:
“Since you’re here, lock up when you leave. And water the plants.”
The door shut.
The house went quiet.
And the rage turned into something far more dangerous:
Focus.
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