Chapter 2

Two days later, on the weekend, Mom dragged the whole family up early.

"Come on. We're going with Cassie to look at apartments."

My mood on the ride over was complicated.

Four years out of school. Sixty-eight thousand dollars in debt. But once the signing bonus hit, I could wipe out at least half of it.

Maybe this time I could talk to Mom and Dad about it. Borrow a little to clear the loan, then pay them back slowly.

But the thin thread of hope I'd carried in vanished the moment we walked into the sales office.

"My daughter's the one moving in. Of course we listen to her."

Turns out the "daughter" in Mom's mouth didn't include me.

Dad nodded and instructed the agent: "One bedroom's too cramped. My daughter lives alone, but she needs at least two bedrooms. South-facing, plenty of light. Open kitchen. The living room needs to fit that new sofa of hers..."

Ethan pulled out a credit card and ruffled Cassie's hair with a smile: "Pick whatever you like. Anything over budget, big brother's got it."

The four of them wandered through the model unit, discussing floor plans and orientations.

To anyone watching, they looked like a picture-perfect family of four. A family that didn't need a fifth person.

And in that moment, the one who didn't fit was me.

"Sis, come look, tell me what you think."

Mom and Dad remembered me at last.

"Don't just stand there. Help your sister pick. Once she moves out, we'll need to clean out the basement. Toss those old suitcases and make room for Dad's fishing boat."

My chest tightened.

They hadn't even discussed it with me. They'd already decided the basement's new use.

Dad fished twice a month. His boat needed a home. And the place where I'd lived for fifteen years, in his eyes, was just a "storage room."

As if he could read my mind, Ethan spoke calmly:

"Mom and Dad are ordinary folks. They can only do so much. Cassie's just started working. Her salary's low. It's only right we help her out. Weren't you already independent?" He paused. "Besides, those student loans of yours—you're the one who signed for them."

Mom nodded in agreement.

"Molly, you've always been the reasonable one. Stop comparing yourself to your sister."

Always the reasonable one. That was true. I really was.

Reasonable enough that in front of relatives, Mom bragged about me most.

"Molly's the easy one. Never asked for anything at school. She was happy in Ethan's hand-me-down hoodies."

"When there's one last carton of ice cream in the house, Molly never touches it. She always leaves it for her sister."

"Ethan's off gaming, Cassie's at piano lessons, and Molly's home helping with dinner, washing up. Her cookies are the best."

I wanted to laugh.

I was reasonable because I felt sorry for them. Dad's business had been struggling for years. Mom worked night shifts at the hospital until her back gave out. I wanted to share the burden.

And they thought I was useful.

Looking at the four of them chatting and laughing, backs turned to me, I couldn't take it anymore. I turned and walked out.

Ten minutes later, my phone chimed.

Ethan: Where'd you go? Not looking at the place? Cassie says there's no one to take her pictures now, and she's got nothing to post to her Insta story.

I stared at the screen, and a bitter laugh escaped me.

So that was what I existed for. To take her pictures.

I choked back tears and stared out the window, my chest heaving.

"Sweetie, breakups are just small stuff. Always remember, family is your last line of defense."

The driver handed me a tissue through the rearview mirror.

I paused, caught off guard.

After a long moment, I forced out a thank-you and buried my face in the crook of my arm.

I stayed out all day. Not a single person called.

That evening, I got one message from Mom.

Come home. Cassie's laundry needs to go in the dryer. She's out with friends tonight and can't wait around.

I wiped my eyes and laughed out loud.

What was I still hoping for?

I went home planning to start packing. Three weeks and I'd be gone.

But when I walked in, Mom was standing at the top of the basement stairs, her expression off.