“Did you eat my lunch?” I asked once, incredulous.
Vanessa smiled, chewing. “I was hungry.”
I tried to set rules. It felt absurd to have to do it, but I did it anyway. I sat her down at the dining table.
“Okay,” I said, forcing myself to speak calmly. “We need ground rules if you’re staying here. Clean up after yourself. Ask before you borrow things. Help with groceries. No loud noise during work hours. No friends over late on weeknights.”
Vanessa nodded, eyes wide, like she was listening. “Sure. Totally.”
And then she ignored every single one.
The worst nights were the parties.
At first, she invited friends over “just for a bit.” It always turned into hours. Voices rose, laughter spilled into the hallway. Music started low and then crept higher. Glasses clinked. Someone would shout over the music, and then someone else would shout back.
I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to their joy vibrate through the walls. My alarm would ring at 6:30, and I’d still be awake.
