When I came back from my trip, my belongings were dumped on the lawn with a note: “If you want to stay, live in the basement.” So I moved into my secret apartment instead—and stopped paying a dime. Six months later, they knocked on my door, asking to move in with me.

“Zoya, what is that shirt?” she’d say, looking at me like I’d crawled out of a dumpster. “You dress like you’re still in high school. Don’t you care about your appearance?”Family games

Marcus would just laugh. “Sandra’s just trying to help you, sis. She knows about fashion.”

The worst part was watching Sandra show off clothes she’d bought with money Marcus had borrowed from me. She’d parade around in a new designer dress, talking about how important it was to “invest in quality pieces.” I usually escaped to my room as soon as I could, claiming I had work to do. I’d hear Sandra’s voice carry up the stairs, “There she goes again, running back to hide in her little bubble. She’ll never grow up if she keeps avoiding real life.”

I kept quiet and continued building my savings. It wouldn’t be much longer before I could walk away from all of it.

Then I decided to take a well-deserved weekend off and went to visit my friend Jessica at her country house. But when I got back on Sunday night, something felt off—there were too many cars in the driveway, and every room in the house was lit up. As I approached the front door, I noticed toys scattered across the porch.