“Meaning well doesn’t excuse bad behavior. You taught me that when I was eight years old and broke Sarah Mitchell’s toy because I wanted to play with it. You made me apologize, buy her a new one with my allowance money, and write an essay about respecting other people’s property. Why doesn’t Emily have to follow the same rules?”
He sighed.
“It’s complicated.”
“It really isn’t. Either we all follow the same rules or the rules don’t mean anything.”
The elevator arrived. I stepped inside and watched my father’s face disappear as the doors closed. I felt hollow, like someone had scooped out my insides and left only the shell behind. The next morning, I woke up to seventeen missed calls. Most were from my mother, but a few came from relatives I hadn’t spoken to in years. My aunt Patricia had left a voicemail that started with heavy breathing and escalated into a rant about how I’d ruined Emily’s chances of getting back on her feet. My cousin Bridget sent a text saying she’d always thought I was the nice sister, followed by three disappointed-face emojis. I made coffee and ignored all of it. The apartment felt quieter than usual, as if the walls themselves were absorbing the weight of what had happened. Sunlight streamed through the windows, hitting the floors at an angle that made the wood grain visible. These were the same floors Emily had scuffed with her careless furniture dragging. My phone rang again. This time it was my childhood friend Ashley calling from Denver.
“I just got the weirdest message from your mom on Facebook,” she said without preamble. “Something about you refusing to help Emily and being vindictive. What’s going on?”
I told her everything. The key that wouldn’t turn. The police station. The lawsuit. Ashley listened without interrupting, which was one of the many reasons we’d stayed friends since fourth grade.
“Your family is insane,” she said when I finished. “Like genuinely unhinged. Who gives away someone’s apartment?”
“Apparently mine does.”
“Do you need to get out of there for a few days? You could fly out here. My couch is surprisingly comfortable, and Denver is lovely this time of year. Plus, I make excellent stress-eating snacks.”
The offer was tempting, but running away felt like admitting defeat.
“I appreciate it, but I need to stay here. This is my home. I’m not letting them chase me out of it twice.”
“That’s fair. But seriously, if you change your mind, my door is open. Also, your mom is delusional if she thinks I’m going to take her side on this. I’m blocking her after we hang up.”
After the call ended, I sat on my couch and stared at the ceiling. The previous tenant had left behind a water stain shaped vaguely like Ohio on the ceiling. I’d planned to paint over it during the renovation, but the landlord had mentioned he was planning to resurface all the ceilings in the building that summer, so I’d left it alone rather than waste paint on something that would be redone anyway. I had grown oddly fond of its presence in the meantime. It reminded me that imperfection could be interesting. The doorbell rang around noon. I checked the peephole and saw my aunt Patricia standing in the hallway, arms crossed over her chest. She looked exactly like my mother, but with shorter hair and a perpetually skeptical expression. I opened the door, but didn’t invite her in.
“We need to talk,” Patricia said.
“I don’t think we do, Amanda.”
“This situation has gotten completely out of hand. Your mother is beside herself. Your father hasn’t slept properly in days. Emily is devastated. All because you couldn’t be flexible for a few months.”
“Aunt Patricia, if someone broke into your house, changed your locks, and moved into your bedroom, would you be flexible about it?”
“That’s different. Emily is family.”
“So you keep saying, but nobody has explained why being family means she gets to commit crimes without consequences.”
Patricia’s face reddened.
“Crimes? You’re talking about your sister like she’s some kind of criminal. She made a mistake. She was going through a difficult time and made a poor decision. That doesn’t make her a criminal.”
“She broke into my apartment, changed my locks, and moved in without permission. Those are literal crimes. Breaking and entering. Illegal eviction. The police didn’t make that up. The law didn’t invent those charges because I was being petty.”
“You could have handled this privately. Instead, you humiliated her in court. You made her pay thousands of dollars she doesn’t have. You’ve turned this family against each other.”
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