There was a pause, and I could almost feel my mother choosing her response, shaping it into something that sounded reasonable while still keeping the system intact.
“You’ve always been the strong one,” she said finally. “You can handle things. Vanessa needs more help.”
There it was. The script I’d lived inside my whole life.
Lauren can handle it. So Lauren should.
Vanessa needs help. So everyone should bend around Vanessa.
I hung up and sat on the edge of my bed in the dim light of my bedroom lamp, listening to the faint echo of laughter from the living room, Vanessa already back out there like nothing happened.
Something settled inside me then, heavy and clear.
Nothing was going to change as long as I stayed in this apartment.
A week later, the email arrived.
It came from my father, subject line crisp and official: “Rent Adjustment Notice.”
