Then she said Natalie needed a quiet place to focus on her art.
Natalie smiled into her wineglass.
Kevin looked up with sudden interest.
Sophia waited.
Her father leaned toward her.
“Tomorrow, we are all moving into your apartment,” he announced. “There will be no excuses.”
The dining room seemed to change temperature.
Her mother’s ice shifted in the glass.
Kevin’s chair creaked.
Everyone waited to see which version of Sophia had arrived.
The one who swallowed her anger.
The one who always made space.
The daughter who always paid.
For a moment, Sophia saw the future they had planned without her permission.
Her parents’ belongings filling her bedroom.
Kevin’s equipment covering the balcony.
Natalie’s canvases leaning against walls Sophia had spent years working to afford.
She could have listed every sacrifice.
The lost scholarship.
The exhausting jobs.
The money.
The opportunities.
The years of her life they had treated as family property.
