That was the moment something cold slid into place inside me.
Because she wasn’t asking.
She wasn’t apologizing.
She wasn’t even pretending to see the violation.
She had simply decided that my space was available.
My parents reinforced it.
“Don’t be selfish,” my father muttered when I called him next. “Your sister is going through enough.”
As if I weren’t.
As if the years I had spent saving, sacrificing, building, didn’t count.
As if the house existed independently of me.
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