That evening, I drove to my parents’ house to share the news. I pictured my mother hugging me proudly, maybe even saying she admired that I had done it on my own.
Instead, as soon as I finished speaking, the room fell silent.
My mother, Patricia Carter, looked at me as if I had just admitted to something terrible.
“You bought an apartment?” she asked slowly.
“Yes,” I said, forcing a small smile. “I closed the deal today.”
Her expression darkened.
“Why would you buy an apartment without asking our permission first?”
The words hit me like a slap.
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