“Naomi… please,” she said softly. “Don’t argue with him. He’s been stressed. Maybe just stay at a hotel for a few days.”
Stressed.
The word echoed in my mind.
I was working nonstop to keep her from losing everything.
And he was “stressed.”
That was the moment I finally understood the truth about my family.
Brent could insult me, take my space, live off my money—and it would all be tolerated.
Because he was the son.
The golden child.
And I was just the provider.
A resource.
Something to use… and discard.
My throat tightened.
I expected tears.
They never came.
Instead, everything inside me turned cold and clear.
The part of me that still wanted their love… disappeared.
“So,” I said quietly, “you’re choosing him.”
She didn’t answer.
She looked down.
That was enough.
“Okay.”
No yelling.
No reminders.
No arguments.
I walked to the table, took off my keys, and placed them down.
The sound echoed louder than anything said that night.
I picked up my suitcases…
and left.
