“Forty-five thousand,” he said flatly. “Sabrina deserves it.”
I was the one working two jobs while saving for nursing school. Sabrina, meanwhile, was “taking time to find herself,” which usually meant spending money that wasn’t hers.
“I can’t,” I said. “That’s impossible.”
My mother, Diane, didn’t even blink. “If you refuse, go live in an orphanage.”
It was their favorite threat. I was adopted, and they never let me forget it. Even though I was already an adult, the message always carried the same sting: you only belong here if you pay for it.
My father leaned closer. “Take out a loan. Sell your car. Do whatever it takes, Hannah—or pack your bags.”
I kept my expression neutral. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll take care of it.”
But the moment I closed my bedroom door, the shaking inside me turned into something sharper—clarity. If they wanted a car so badly, I would give them one.
