Mom gasped.

“Who is that?”

“My attorney.”

Dad finally took the phone.

“Emily, this is too far.”

I closed my eyes.

Too far was the garage.

Too far was eating beside paint cans.

Too far was paying for a bedroom I wasn’t even allowed to sleep in.

“No,” I said. “This is paperwork.”

Tyler cursed.

“Where are we supposed to go?”

“The same place you told me to eat,” I said. “Somewhere else.”

Mom immediately started crying.

“After everything we did for you?”

Grace pushed a folder toward me.

Inside were four years of mortgage payments, utility bills, pharmacy receipts, truck payments, and one recording from the garage security camera.

Mom’s voice was perfectly clear.

Emily will keep paying. She has nowhere else to go. Just make sure she understands this is still my house.

I sent the recording to the family group chat.

Nobody responded.

Then Tyler finally typed: