Mia stared down at the lease. “We can’t afford that,” she murmured. “Tuition went up. I was going to ask if you could help again.”
There it was—the same assumption, untouched by years.
“I’m not your safety net anymore,” I said. “You’re twenty-three. You can get a job, cut back on classes, apply for aid. My role isn’t to drain myself for this house again.”
Mom folded her arms. “You can’t still be mad about one bad night. Families say things they don’t mean.”
“Families say things,” I replied evenly. “They don’t evict the person paying the bills and laugh while she carries her life out in a trash bag.”
Silence settled over the porch.
