“Where’s breakfast?”
My brother wandered into the kitchen in sweatpants, scratching the side of his head.
I set my suitcase beside the front door.
“There isn’t any.”
He stared at me as if I had suddenly begun speaking a language he couldn’t understand.
My mother came downstairs seconds later.
The moment she saw the suitcase, her expression tightened.
“What is that?”
I handed her a printed sheet.
Every account I managed. Every upcoming payment. Every service that was about to lose its billing information.
“I’m moving out this morning,” I said. “Anything that’s under my name is coming with me.”
My brother grabbed the page.
His expression changed at once.
“You can’t shut off the internet.”
I lifted my suitcase.
“I’m not shutting down your life. I’m simply not paying for it anymore.”
Then my mother stepped directly in front of the door.
“You’re not leaving until you make breakfast.”
