“She’s lived here over a year.”
“She’s had a rough time. The breakup. Her job situation.”
“And I supported her through it.”
“I know.”
“No, Dad. I don’t think you do.”
There was silence.
I continued.
“She doesn’t pay rent. She doesn’t clean. She brings people over constantly. And tonight, she insulted me while Karen laughed.”
Dad slowly exhaled.
“I just don’t want this becoming some huge family fight.”
“It already is.”
He didn’t answer.
The next morning, I made coffee and walked toward the living room.
I stopped in the doorway.
For several seconds, my brain couldn’t process what I was seeing.
The room looked wrong.
Empty.
Then it registered.
The couch was gone.
So was the coffee table.
And the TV stand.
My heart started pounding.
On the floor where the coffee table had been sat a folded note.
I opened it.
