“Strings? After everything? Managing?” I swallowed. “I raised you after Mom died. Paid for college, the condo down payment—”
Hailey cut in. “Exactly. Always the hero speech. It’s exhausting. Dylan wants space, and I’m giving him that. Don’t call again unless it’s to congratulate us properly.”
The line crackled with tension. I tried one more time. “Dylan—talk to me alone.”
He hesitated, then sighed. “There’s nothing to say, sis. Hailey knows what’s best for us now.”
Hailey jumped back. “Hear that? We’re a team. Your era is over. Bye.”
Click. The call ended. I stared at the screen—call log showing seven attempts, one connection, zero resolution. Coffee forgotten, I grabbed my keys.
The condo was twenty minutes away in traffic. I slid into the driver’s seat, engine roaring to life, and headed straight for Crossroads. The drive blurred—red lights, honks—my mind replaying her words: pathetic, control, strings. Every mile fueled the fire.
By the time I pulled into the guest spot below the building, the sun had dipped low, casting long shadows over the brick façade. I marched to the elevator, punched the floor number, and steeled myself. This conversation wasn’t ending over the phone.