Greg only shrugged.
Neither of them believed I was capable of doing anything that could make their comfortable lives inconvenient.
I walked out of the house.
From the front porch, I could hear them laughing again inside my own home.
That hurt more than what Lily had done at the table.
I drove until I found a twenty-four-hour diner a few miles away.
Under the harsh fluorescent lights, I ordered black coffee, opened my tablet, and examined six months of expenses.
When I saw the total, my stomach tightened.
The lifestyle I had been paying for had cost me enough to buy a brand-new car.
Then my phone buzzed.
For one absurd second, I thought Sarah might be apologizing.
Instead, her message appeared:
“You ruined dinner by walking out. Lily is upset. Don’t come home until you’re ready to apologize.”
I read it once.
Then again.
My daughter was living under my roof, spending my money, and allowing her child to disrespect me at my own table.
And she had convinced herself I needed her permission to return to my own house.
That was the moment I smiled.
I opened my banking apps and removed my credit cards from their digital wallets.
I canceled the automatic payment for Sarah’s car insurance.
I changed every streaming password.
I suspended Sarah’s phone line.
Then Greg’s.
Then Lily’s tablet service.
After that, I booked myself a hotel room.
Before turning off my phone, I typed four simple words.
“Don’t contact me again.”
For the first time in two years, I slept peacefully.
The next morning, I woke up to eleven missed calls from Sarah and six from Greg.
I ignored every one.
