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

I would simply remove myself from the equation of their lives as cleanly and completely as possible. That night, staying at Zoe’s again, I created a detailed spreadsheet. Steps to take.

Calls to make. Research to complete. By dawn, I had a comprehensive exit plan mapped out.

A timeline for extracting myself from the life I’d built around people who had never truly wanted me in theirs. As I finally drifted off to sleep, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in years. The lightness of a decision made.

A path forward clear. For once, I would put myself first. And I wouldn’t apologize for it.

For the first time in my entire career, I called in sick the next morning. Victoria was understanding. You’ve banked enough goodwill to take a month off if you needed to, but concern colored her voice.

I assured her it was just a 24-hour bug. Nothing serious. The lie tasted strange on my tongue.

I’d always been pathologically honest, especially at work. But now, deception came easily. Perhaps I’d learned from the best.

My first call was to Trevor Michaels, my financial advisor. We’d met monthly for years as I built my investment portfolio, but I’d never heard the urgency in his voice that I did when I explained I needed an emergency meeting. I can see you at 11, he said.

Is everything okay, Audrey? It will be, I replied, surprised by my own certainty. Trevor’s office was on the 30th floor of a downtown high-rise, all glass and chrome with views of Lake Michigan. As I explained my situation, sanitized, without the emotional details, his expression remained professionally neutral.

So you want to liquidate some investments to purchase a new property in another state while simultaneously selling your current home? He clarified. Yes, I need to know how much I can access quickly without penalties and what the tax implications will be. He typed rapidly, pulling up my accounts.

You’re in a strong position. The market’s favorable for sellers right now, especially in your neighborhood. What locations are you considering for relocation? Denver, I said, the decision made somewhere between Zoe’s apartment and his office.

I’ve always loved the mountains. By the time I left Trevor’s office, I had a clear picture of my financial standing and a referral to a real estate agent who specialized in quick sales for professional clients. Natalie Wells called me before I’d even reached my car.

I understand you’re looking for a discreet, expedited sale, she said. No preamble necessary. I can be at your property this afternoon to assess.

Not today, I replied quickly. My parents are home. Tomorrow morning would be better.

They have a standing breakfast with friends on Fridays. Parents living with you, she asked, her tone shifting slightly. Are they co-owners? No, the property is solely in my name.

Good. That simplifies things considerably. My next call was to a real estate agent in Denver recommended by Natalie.

Melissa Johnson specialized in relocating professionals and understood my need for discretion and speed. I can start sending you virtual tours today, she assured me. Based on your budget and preferences, I already have several properties in mind.

The lawyer came next. Patricia Alvarez, a referral from a colleague who’d gone through a complicated divorce. She confirmed what I already suspected.

As the sole owner, I had every right to sell my property, regardless of who is living there. You’ll need to follow proper eviction procedures if they refuse to leave voluntarily, she cautioned. But given the circumstances, I doubt it will come to that.

By mid-afternoon, the framework of my new life was taking shape. I drove back to my house, timing my arrival for when I knew my mother would be at her weekly hair appointment. My father was likely in the basement, where he’d set up a makeshift workshop for projects he never completed.

I slipped into my bedroom and began methodically sorting through my personal items. Important documents went into a secure portfolio, birth certificate, passport, insurance policies, property deeds. Jewelry and small valuables were next, packed into a carry-on suitcase I could easily transport to Zoe’s.

In the back of my closet, I found a box of childhood mementos I’d kept through multiple moves. Diaries with little locks, school awards, photographs. I opened one diary from when I was 12, the handwriting large and looping.

Dad forgot my science fair today. Mom said he was too busy with work, but I saw him watching TV when I got home. Heather got a new bike for getting A-B in math.

I got all As again, but no one noticed. Page after page documented small betrayals, moments of favoritism so normal to my childhood self that I’d recorded them matter-of-factly, without complaint. In another box, I found handmade gifts I’d created for my parents over the years.

A clay pencil holder for Dad’s desk, painted with careful detail. A beaded necklace for Mom that had taken weeks to string. Both items were dusty and unused, stored away rather than displayed or worn…