"Your home? This house is under James' name now. He's married, and you're thirty years old. How can you still want to live with your brother?" Her disdain was no longer hidden, her eyes filled with contempt.
I looked at James. He pressed his lips together, looking everywhere but at me.
I turned to my mother, but she just stared back, her expression dark, offering no support.
My father puffed away on his cigarette, acting as if none of this concerned him.
There I stood, awkward and helpless, realizing their rush to property transfer wasn't just to avoid a potential dispute. They wanted to use it as an excuse to kick me out. My heart ached with a thousand tiny stings.
Looking at my family, I asked incredulously, "Did I do something wrong? Why have you all changed so suddenly?"
For the first time, I felt like an outsider in my own home. Before I went to prison, everyone treated me well. Why had everything changed the moment I was released?