Dad looked stunned. He was used to being the loudest man in every room, especially his own house. But this was Grandpa Daniel’s house before it was ever my father’s. My grandparents had helped Dad buy it twenty years ago when he and Mom were drowning in debt. Dad never mentioned that part.
Grandpa looked at me again. “How long have you been paying?”
I took a breath. “Since I was nineteen.”
Grandma covered her mouth.
Mom said quickly, “He offered.”
I stared at her. “I offered two hundred dollars because Dad said the mortgage was tight. Then it became four hundred. Then six. Then eight.”
Dad’s face hardened. “Because costs went up.”
Grandpa asked, “And Claire?”
Nobody answered.
Claire rolled her eyes. “I was married then.”
“And after the divorce?”
“I had babies.”
Grandpa nodded. “So Ethan paid because he had no babies.”
“That’s not what this is,” Mom said.
“Yes, it is,” I said.
My voice surprised even me. For years, I had kept everything inside because I hated conflict. I worked at a logistics company, came home exhausted, ate microwave dinners in the basement, and listened to everyone upstairs call me selfish whenever I wanted something for myself.
I had missed friends’ weddings because Mom said Claire needed babysitting help. I had delayed applying for apartments because Dad said rent outside would be stupid when I could help family. I had watched Claire get a new SUV while I drove a twelve-year-old Honda with a heater that barely worked.
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