Then it disappeared.
“So this is punishment?”
“No.”
“Bullshit.”
“The house is an asset I no longer want tied to this family arrangement.”
“You sound like a lawyer.”
“I’ve been paying one all week.”
He laughed bitterly.
“You know what? Fine.”
He stepped backward.
“Sell it.”
“I am.”
“Enjoy the money.”
“I will invest most of it.”
“Of course you will.”
He opened the door.
Then he turned.
“But when your daughter grows up and treats you like this, remember this moment.”
That landed.
Not because he was right.
Because every parent fears becoming the villain in their child’s story.
I looked at him.
“If my daughter is seven months pregnant and someone throws a shoe at her, I hope I remember exactly this moment.”
Dad’s expression froze.
Then he left.
The next week was chaos.
Boxes appeared in the house.
My parents finally started packing.
Tessa did not.
