The only thing making me mentally ill was the constant gaslighting and years of being treated like a live-in maid.
On the phone, Dad sighed.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “I’ll talk to her about moving out for college. It might be… better for everyone.”
I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood.
My own father. The one who’d let me crawl into his bed for years after Mom died because I couldn’t sleep alone. The one I’d cooked for and cleaned for and cared for. Agreeing to help push me out of my own house.
I pulled my phone out and hit record.
One-party consent state. I’d googled that after living with Tracy this long. You learn to protect yourself.
I slipped back into my room until the call ended.
Then I walked downstairs like I hadn’t heard a thing.
Tracy nearly dropped her “World’s Best Mom” mug when she saw me. The mug Brandon and Sierra had bought her at Dollar Tree one Mother’s Day, which she treated like it was fine china.
“Good morning, sweetie,” she chirped, voice too bright. “I made coffee!”
She hadn’t. She’d pushed a K-Cup into the Keurig I’d bought with my Starbucks employee discount. But sure, Brenda.
Brandon shuffled in, hair sticking up, smelling like sleep and stale Doritos. Sierra came down full glam, lashes, hair, the whole “I woke up like this” lie.
We sat at the table.
I’d made breakfast—eggs and toast—because some habits die hard.
Tracy tapped her phone like she was checking important emails, but I could see the screen angled enough to know she was googling “can you evict someone who owns the house.”
Brandon scroll-doom-scrolled TikTok, shoveling cereal into his mouth.
Sierra arranged her avocado toast just so, snapped a picture, then pushed it around with her fork.
“Hey, Tracy,” I said casually, cutting into my eggs. “I was thinking about what you said yesterday. About rent.”
She perked up like a meerkat spotting a predator.
“Good,” she said, smoothing her robe. “I’m glad you’re being reasonable. Like I said, your father and I—”
“You’re right,” I cut in. “People who live here should pay rent.”
The relief that washed over her face lasted exactly two seconds.
“I did some research on market rates,” I continued. “For a house like this, in this neighborhood? I think $1,200 per person is fair. So that’s $3,600 a month from you, Brandon, and Sierra. Not including utilities. And of course, we’ll need a security deposit.”
Chaos.