“After everything we’ve done for you,” she said, “this is how you repay us? By hoarding your success? By abandoning your sister when she needs you?”
A lifetime sat inside that sentence.
After everything we’ve done for you.
They had fed me, clothed me, raised me, driven me to school, attended some of my events, paid part of my first-year college expenses before telling me money was tight while buying Bethany a used car. They had done what parents are expected to do and presented it later as debt.
I placed my napkin on the table.
“I am not abandoning Bethany. Bethany is an adult. You are choosing to keep treating her like a child, and you are trying to make that my responsibility.”
Mom’s eyes shone with fury. “Do you hear yourself?”
“Yes,” I said. “Clearly.”
I took two twenties from my wallet and set them beside my cup. My meal had cost more, but the gesture was not about math. It was about leaving without waiting for permission.
Dad’s voice followed me as I stood. “Sit down. We are not finished.”
“I am.”
“Christina,” Mom hissed, “if you walk out that door—”
I turned back. “What? If I walk out, what?”