“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.
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