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

Zoe was waiting in her car when I emerged, ready for our two-day road trip to Denver. We’d planned it as an adventure, a cleansing journey from my old life to the new. Ready? She asked as I slid into the passenger seat.

More than you know. As Chicago receded in the rearview mirror, the tension I’d carried for years began to dissolve. We crossed state lines, singing along to playlists, stopping at quirky roadside attractions, talking about everything and nothing.

With each mile, I felt lighter, more myself. Denver welcomed us with stunning mountain views and clear blue skies. My new apartment was everything Melissa had promised.

Modern, spacious, with floor-to-ceiling windows framing the distant Rockies. The furnishings I’d kept fit perfectly, and what was missing could be replaced in time. This place is gorgeous, Zoe declared as we uncorked a bottle of champagne that first night.

To new beginnings. To freedom, I countered, clinking my glass against hers. Zoe stayed for a week, helping me settle in before flying back to Chicago.

Her departure was bittersweet, my only connection to my old life returning to it, but I wasn’t alone for long. My new position at Westbrook Financial began the following Monday. The team welcomed me warmly, and the work itself was engaging, similar enough to my previous role to leverage my expertise, different enough to present new challenges.

My boss, Monica Evans, had a management style that emphasized results over FaceTime, a refreshing change from Chicago’s more traditional banking culture. One month into my new life, I was establishing routines, morning runs in a nearby park, weekend hikes in the foothills, evenings spent reading or exploring my new city. My apartment was taking shape, becoming a true reflection of my tastes, without accommodation for anyone else’s preferences.

The phone call from Heather came on a Sunday afternoon. House Denver, she asked after pleasantries were exchanged. It’s wonderful, I replied truthfully.

How are things there? Her hesitation told me everything before she spoke. Challenging. Mom and dad are still with us.

They’ve looked at a few apartments, but always find reasons why they won’t work. Let me guess, too small, too expensive, wrong neighborhood? Exactly. She sighed.

And they’re not contributing to household expenses. Keith is getting frustrated. They did the same thing to me.

I reminded her gently. It’s a pattern. I know.

I just… She paused. I feel guilty even complaining to you about it, after what you went through. Don’t.

We’re both their daughters, just in different roles. After we hung up, I felt a momentary pang of guilt. Had I simply shifted their burden from my shoulders to Heather’s? But I reminded myself that Heather had Keith, a partnership to help bear the weight.

And unlike me, she’d been raised with the tools to set boundaries, having seen them modeled by our parents her entire life. That night, I noticed a letter in my mail pile with my mother’s distinctive handwriting. I set it aside, not yet ready to read whatever justifications or manipulations it contained.

Instead, I went out onto my balcony, watching the sunset paint the mountains in shades of pink and gold. For the first time in memory, I was sleeping through the night, uninterrupted by anxiety, dreams, or insomnia. My appetite had returned, and with it, a few pounds that softened the gaunt look stress had carved into my face.

Colleagues commented on my energy, my creativity, the fresh perspectives I brought to meetings. The following week, I received a video call request from Victoria. Curious, I accepted.

Denver agrees with you, she observed, studying me through the screen. You look well. I am well, I confirmed.

How are things at Hartman? Productive. Your replacement is working out, though she lacks your attention to detail. She paused, expression turning serious.

I should mention that your parents contacted the firm asking for your new address. My stomach tightened. What did you tell them? That it’s against company policy to disclose personal information about employees.

They were quite insistent, your father especially. Thank you for not sharing it. Victoria nodded.

I gathered there were personal reasons for your relocation. It’s not my business, but if you ever need anything. I appreciate that, I said, touched by her unexpected support.

After the call, I messaged Heather, asking her to reinforce with our parents that contacting my workplace was unacceptable. Her response was immediate, already handled it. They won’t do it again…