The words snapped something into place in my mind.
Fine.
I sat back. I felt oddly calm, like the chaos had finally arranged itself into one clear path.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll move out.”
My parents stared at me. Then, unbelievably, they laughed.
My mother’s laugh was short, dismissive. “Move out and go where?”
“You won’t find anything in that neighborhood for what we’re charging,” she continued. “Even with the increase.”
My father shook his head like I’d made a naive threat. “Be realistic, Lauren. With your student loans and your salary, where do you think you’ll go?”
The condescension made my skin burn. They really believed I needed them. They believed my independence was an illusion they allowed me.
“I’ll figure it out,” I said quietly. “I always do.”
My mother leaned in, voice sharp. “This is ridiculous. You’re going to uproot your life, end up in some tiny studio in a bad neighborhood, all because you won’t share your space with your sister for a few months.”
