Every day felt like walking on glass. If I did laundry too late? She complained about the noise. If I left my shoes by the door? She huffed and moved them. Every little thing I did seemed to irritate her.
One morning, while we were having coffee, she leaned against the counter and said, “You know, Elena, it’s unhealthy to be so dependent. You’re not a child anymore.”
I stared at my cup. “I try. I try everywhere.”
She sighed. “Trying isn’t the same as doing.”
Dad cleared his throat. “Let’s not fight, okay?”
I wanted him to say something more. I wanted him to tell her to back off. He didn’t.
The tension grew like a storm cloud over the house. I started staying out longer, sending resumes from cafés, crashing on friends’ sofas when I could.
One afternoon, after a long interview around the city, I came home and found something that made my heart stop.
Boxes. All my things packed up, piled on the front porch like trash waiting to be picked up. Carol was at the door with her arms crossed. She smiled like she had just won a game.
“I think the best thing for everyone is that you move out,” she said.
I looked past her. My dad was there. Behind her. Silent.
“Dad?” My voice cracked.
He rubbed his neck. “Maybe it’s for the best, kid.”
It felt like the ground gave way beneath me. I didn’t shout. I didn’t cry. I just nodded and started gathering the boxes.
Carol didn’t even move to help. Dad just stood there, watching. I loaded my life into the car, piece by piece, with an empty chest.
As I drove away, I looked in the rearview mirror. They were still there, side by side. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I wouldn’t be coming back.
I parked in front of my best friend’s house. She opened the door, saw my face, and hugged me without saying a word. That night, lying on her couch, staring at the dark ceiling, I thought it was the end of everything.
