"You're right. I can't control you." I took a breath, steeling myself. "But listen closely: since Lily is the only daughter you care about, she can handle your future. Do not contact me again."
I gripped the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. "Consider me dead. As far as you're concerned, I was never born."
I ended the call before they could respond.
Silence reclaimed the small rental apartment, heavy and suffocating. The ticking of the wall clock sounded like hammer strikes against my skull.
Mechanically, I prepared a bowl of instant noodles. The steam curled up, carrying the scent of cheap preservatives—a stark contrast to the feast I knew was happening elsewhere. While I ate, my thumb hovered over my phone screen before tapping open social media.
Lily had just updated her feed. A nine-photo grid.
The center image featured a massive red banner: $100,000 Dowry. The bold golden characters mocked me.
In the candid shots, Mom and Dad gazed at Lily with eyes full of tenderness. She wore a traditional red bridal gown, intricate gold embroidery shimmering under the lights. They looked like the perfect, happy family.