My mom sl:ammed her fork onto the plate during dinner and told me I had 48 hours to move out, saying our Burlington house now belonged to my sister.

“I bought the furniture.”

She waved her hand dismissively.

“Stop being dramatic.”

My father remained silent.

Silent while I wrote the checks every month.

Silent while I spent weekends fixing the house my grandfather built.

Silent while Emily barely remembered where the place was.

“She’s moving back,” my mother continued. “And she deserves stability.”

The word deserves hung in the air.

I let out a short laugh.