Dad’s face hardened. “How dare you buy an apartment without our permission?”
I laughed because I honestly thought he was joking.
He wasn’t.
“You’re selling it,” he said. “Emily needs tuition money.”
Emily leaned back in her chair, suddenly paying attention.
“I paid for it with my savings.”
“So?” Mom snapped. “Family comes before selfish little dreams.”
That sentence had worked on me for years. When Dad was between jobs, I helped with their utility bills. I covered Emily’s car insurance, her laptop, spring-break emergencies, and two semesters of what everyone kept calling temporary tuition.
Whenever I asked about repayment, Mom said I was being cold.
But this was different.
“No,” I said.
Dad’s chair crashed backward as he stood.
“You think because you have some fancy finance job you’re better than us?”
“I think my money is mine.”
His hand closed around my throat.
For one stunned second, I couldn’t breathe. Then he grabbed my hair and dragged me toward the front hall. My shoulder hit the porch railing when he threw me outside.
