The night I lost my job, my sister shouted, “Who’s going to pay my car loan now?” Mom backed her up. Dad started packing my things. “Your sister needs this house more than you do.” I said nothing about the company in my name or the beach house. Hours later… it all collapsed.

I counted the days like I was counting stitches after a surgery. Fourteen days. Not one call from my mother to ask if I had found a place to stay. Not one text from my father to check on his insurance. On day ten, I opened the family group chat. Megan had posted a photo of my old room. It was repainted a dusty rose, with new curtains and a vanity table.

“Finally got my own space,” the caption read.
My mother had commented: “Looks beautiful, sweetheart.”

I put the phone face down. The limb had been amputated, and the body was continuing as if I had never existed.

Cliffhanger: On day sixteen, my phone lit up with a call from Megan. I picked it up, expecting an apology. Instead, I got an invoice.

Chapter 6: The Termination of a Contract

“Hey,” Megan said, her voice casual as if we were picking up a conversation from five minutes ago. “So, my car insurance is due next week. Can you handle it? Also, Mom says the water heater broke. She needs like two thousand.”

I let the silence stretch for three seconds. I could hear the television in the background—the same game show my father always watched.

“Megan,” I said, my voice as cold and level as a frozen lake. “Do you know where I am right now?”