Chapter 7 - The Confrontation of the Truth
I pulled the legal folder from my briefcase and laid it on the table between them.
"This is the partition sale filing," I said, opening the first page. "The court date is in three weeks. The judge will approve the sale. The house will be put on the market, and because it's in a prime Austin neighborhood, it will sell within thirty days."
My father stared at the documents, his face turning a sickly, pale white. "You're selling our home? The house we raised you in?"
"No, Dad," I said. "I'm selling the asset I paid for. You told me I lived there for free. You told me I used your food and your electricity. But the records show that my salary paid for every single crumb of bread in that kitchen, every watt of electricity in the walls, and every penny of the equity you’re currently sitting on."
"Emily, please," my mother wept, her hands reaching across the table to touch mine. I pulled my hands back, keeping them safely in my lap. "We made a mistake. We were stressed. Jason was struggling, and we... we took it out on you. We didn't mean to throw you out."
"You did mean it," I said, my voice completely calm, devoid of the tears that used to choke me during our kitchen arguments. "You meant it because you believed I would always come back. You believed my guilt was stronger than my self-respect. But you were wrong."
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"Where are we supposed to go?" my father asked, his voice barely a whisper. "We can't afford rent in Austin. We have no savings."
"You have a motorcycle, Dad," I said. "And Jason has his gaming console. I suggest you start there."
