She tossed out those parting words and left the room with the children.

When silence returned, I sank down onto the floor, clutching my torn notebook in my hands.

I’ll leave this house no matter what.

That determination alone kept me from losing my sanity.

But I didn’t know then. I didn’t know that by that point already, my golden ticket out of this hell had been concealed and crushed by my own parents.

My 20th birthday fell on a gloomy, rain-soaked Tuesday.

I hadn’t expected anything. I knew expectations only existed to be betrayed.

Still, somewhere deep down, I was waiting to hear from my grandfather, Frank. No matter how busy he was, he always sent me a card or called me on my birthday every single year.

But my phone showed zero notifications.

When I got home late that night, dragging my feet, my parents and Ashley and Chris were gathered around the dining table, whispering in hushed tones.

The moment I opened the door, they jerked their heads up and hurriedly hid the documents spread across the table.

“Oh, Kelly, you’re back,” my father, David, said, clearing his throat theatrically. “Come to think of it, today is your 20th birthday, huh? Congratulations. Here.”

My mother, Grace, casually tossed me an envelope containing $20 worth of gift cards.

“Thanks. Um, did Grandpa contact you?”

The air in the room instantly went tense.

My parents exchanged a brief glance.

“Oh, about that. Your grandfather called. He’s in South America right now, setting up a new business somewhere without even proper reception. He said to give you his regards, but he doesn’t have the time or means to send a present.”

“I see. If he’s busy, it can’t be helped.”

Her explanation sounded reasonable, but my instincts told me something was wrong. My grandfather wasn’t that kind of person.

Just then, Ashley let out a smile she clearly couldn’t suppress.

In her hand, I caught a glimpse of the edge of a glossy brochure she hadn’t managed to hide in time.

“Hey, Mom. Don’t you think this island kitchen is amazing? You could cook while keeping an eye on the kids.”

“It really is wonderful. And the living room is so spacious. Looks like it gets great sunlight, too.”

“Are you guys moving?”

Ashley looked at me with a triumphant grin.

“Yes, we finally found a house worthy of us.”

“Oh, did Chris find a job?”

“Hey, watch your mouth,” Chris snapped, beer in hand. “This is just, well, our luck turning around. Life’s not so bad after all.”

I lost interest and headed for my room.

They probably got the money from our parents again.

What I didn’t know, what I couldn’t have known, was that among the documents they’d hidden was a property deed with my name on it, and that the wonderful new house Ashley was so excited about was the very house my grandfather had given me.

The verdict came abruptly the week after my birthday.

“I’ll get straight to the point. We’re moving out of this apartment at the end of the month,” my father said in a business-like tone after dinner.

“Moving out? Where are you going?”

“We’re moving to Ashley’s new house,” my mother continued. “It’s a wonderful place. We’ll all live together and help take care of the grandchildren.”

Ashley snorted smugly.

“That’s right. There are plenty of rooms. In exchange for taking care of Mom and Dad in their old age, we prepared spacious rooms for them.”

“How did you even afford something like that?”

“That’s none of your concern,” my father cut in sharply. “What is important is this. There’s no room for you there.”

It felt as though time itself had stopped.

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. That house is a sanctuary for Ashley’s family. You’re 20 now, aren’t you? Don’t you think it’s shameful for an adult daughter to keep leeching off her parents?”

“Leeching? I pay my own tuition and living expenses. If anything, the ones leeching are Ashley and her husband.”

“Watch your mouth,” my father roared. “Your sister has just seized a major opportunity in life. And instead of celebrating her, all you can think about is yourself and where you’ll live. How selfish can you be?”

“Selfish? You’re telling me I’m losing my home?”

“That’s why we’re telling you to become independent,” my mother said, her voice gentle, but her eyes cold. “Take this as your chance to start living on your own. You’ll be out by this weekend. Pack your things and leave. We won’t tell you our new address. This is tough love. So you won’t come crawling back. Try to understand our intentions as parents.”

Parental love.

How could they even bring themselves to use such a word?

Their true intentions were painfully obvious.

They no longer needed the money I earned.

That weekend, I left the apartment with two suitcases stuffed with everything I owned and a single backpack. My family had already moved their belongings out and left without me.

With nowhere else to go, I eventually ended up at a student transitional housing facility on the outskirts of town.

Nights there were never quiet.

Coughing echoed from every direction. Moans from people trapped in nightmares.

The stench of bleach mixed with mold hung in the air.

I was forced to provide a urine sample with the bathroom door open right in front of a supervisor. I bit my lip until it bled, holding back tears as I complied.

I was a future medical professional. I had never once touched drugs, and yet in that place, I was nothing more than a number under supervision.

At night, I slept clutching my backpack to my chest like a baby. Inside were my expensive medical textbooks and the little cash I had left.