Dad forgot to hang up the call. «She’s nothing! A failure, should’ve never been born…

But I’m done with it. What about us? My father finally asked, gesturing between himself and my mother. Where are we supposed to go in three days? That’s not my problem anymore.

I’ve accepted a position with Westbrook Financial in Denver. I’m leaving the day after closing. You can’t just abandon us, my mother insisted, panic replacing anger.

Where are your parents? Being a parent is more than biology. It’s support, encouragement, and love. Things I’ve given you far more of than I’ve ever received.

I stood up, signaling the end of the conversation. You can stay until closing day. After that, you’re on your own.

Heather rose as well, her expression troubled. Mom, Dad, maybe you could stay with us for a little while. Until you find a place.

The speed with which they pivoted to their backup plan was almost impressive. My mother’s tears returned on cue as she embraced Heather. Oh, sweetheart, we wouldn’t want to impose.

It’s fine, Heather said, though her tone suggested it was anything but. The guest room is small, but it’s just temporary. I caught her eye over our mother’s shoulder, and for the first time in our adult lives, I felt a moment of true connection with my sister.

A shared recognition of the manipulation we’d both been subject to in different ways. She gave me a small, sad nod. As they discussed logistics, I quietly left the room.

There was nothing more to say. The truth had been laid bare, the decision made. In three days, I would close this chapter of my life and begin writing a new one on my own terms without the weight of unrequited family obligation dragging me down.

Closing day arrived with a sense of finality that was both terrifying and liberating. I met Natalie at the title company’s office, signing document after document, initialing pages until my hand cramped. When the final paper was processed, she handed me a cashier’s check for $823,450, the sale price minus the remaining mortgage balance and closing costs.

Congratulations, she said, shaking my hand. Most of my clients are sad on closing day, but you look relieved. I am, I admitted.

It’s a fresh start. My parents had moved out the previous day, reluctantly relocating to Heather’s guest room just until we find the perfect place. They’d taken far more than their personal belongings, kitchen appliances I’d purchased, the new living room furniture, even bathroom fixtures that should have stayed with the house.

I let it go. The material things seemed insignificant compared to the emotional baggage I was leaving behind. After the closing, I returned to the empty house for one final walkthrough.

Each room held memories, some good, many tainted now by the knowledge of my parents’ true feelings. The kitchen where I’d prepared countless family meals. The dining room where I’d endured subtle criticisms disguised as concern.

The home office where I’d overheard the conversation that changed everything. I was standing in my old bedroom when Heather arrived, alone. I thought you might be here, she said, hovering in the doorway.

The kids are with Keith’s mom. I wanted to help with any last-minute things. I’m all packed, I replied, gesturing to the bare room.

The movers took everything yesterday. She nodded, stepping further inside. I’m sorry, Audrey.

About all of it. I had no idea they felt that way about you. I know, I assured her.

It’s not your fault. But I benefited from it, she acknowledged, surprising me with her insight. My whole life, I got the praise, the attention, the support.

I never questioned why. Because it was normal to you. Why would you question it? We stood in silence for a moment, the weight of shared history between us.

Are we going to stay in touch? She finally asked. After you move? I’d like to, I said honestly. You and the kids.

We can video chat, figure out a new relationship without them in the middle. She smiled tentatively. I’d like that too.

Together, we walked through the house one last time, locking doors and closing blinds. At the front entrance, I handed her the spare key I’d been keeping for the buyers. Take care of yourself in Denver, she said, embracing me awkwardly.

We’d never been physically affectionate siblings. Take care of yourself with them, I replied. Don’t let them do to you what they did to me…