The air around me went thin. Burden wasn’t just an insult. It was a verdict on my whole existence.
My mother laughed softly, the way she laughed when she thought she was being clever. “She’s selfish, but she’s easy to steer. She still wants our approval. That’s her weakness.”
They talked like I wasn’t their daughter, like I was a stubborn employee who needed managing. My father’s voice carried confidence, almost excitement.
“By this time next year,” he said, “that house will be in our names. Either she signs it over, or she adds us to the deed. We just keep applying pressure.”
My mother chimed in, casual as if she were choosing groceries. “And if she refuses? We’re living there anyway. She’d never evict her own parents.”
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