Her words struck hard. “I just paid the rent,” I said, barely steady. “And Mia’s tuition. You asked me—”
“That money was for this family,” she cut me off. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sharp and icy. “And this family needs room. Mia’s taking your bedroom. She actually has a future. I won’t let you drag her down with your endless drama and bills.” Finished goods store
Mia appeared in the doorway behind her, phone in hand, lip gloss gleaming. “You seriously still here?” she sneered. “Mom, I thought you told her already.”
Heat burned behind my eyes. “I’ve been working nonstop for you,” I said softly. “For both of you.”
Mom rolled her eyes and brushed past me into the kitchen. When I followed, still trying to reason with her, she grabbed a mug from the counter, half-filled with lukewarm coffee. “I said we’re done,” she yelled, and with a sharp twist of her wrist, she flung the coffee straight at my chest.
The mug shattered in the sink as the liquid soaked into my scrubs, hot and bitter. Mia laughed from the doorway, amused. Mom gestured toward the trash bag on the floor like a judge handing down a sentence.
“Get out, Lauren,” she said. “Tonight.”