“You need to stop making this harder than it has to be,” Denise said, her voice draped in a practiced, tragic calm.
“What did you do?” Lena’s voice was a ragged whisper.
“You heard your mother,” her father, Robert, barked from the shadows behind the door. “You don’t live here anymore.”
“I pay twelve hundred dollars a month to live here!” Lena shot back, her exhaustion turning into a cold, white-hot fury.
“That was a contribution,” Denise snapped. “Not rent. And after the way you spoke to us last Sunday about your ‘boundaries’… well, we decided we needed our space back.”
In the hallway behind them, her younger sister, Erica, appeared. She was leaning against the wall, arms folded, watching the scene with the hungry eyes of someone who had already mentally moved into Lena’s larger bedroom. This wasn’t a family spat. It was a coordinated strike. They had waited until she was trapped at the hospital, changed the locks, and discarded her like a tenant who had never existed.
