Downstairs, my parents were still talking about Ashford Heights and all the doors it would open for Sadie. No one came to check on me. No one knocked on my door.
I opened a notebook and started writing numbers. Tuition. Books. Rent. Work hours. Transportation. Food. Every calculation made my stomach tighten, but each line also gave me something I had not felt all evening.
Control.
That was the night I stopped waiting to be chosen.
The next morning felt almost offensively normal. Sunlight poured into the kitchen. My father reviewed meal plan options for Sadie over breakfast. My mother showed her photos of dorm furniture and pastel bedding. Sadie laughed and talked about campus events and the kind of people she hoped to meet.
I sat there quietly eating toast.
Nobody asked how I was going to pay for school.
At first I told myself maybe they needed time. Maybe the conversation would continue later, after emotions settled. Maybe my father would come upstairs that night and say he had been too harsh.
He never did.