A sharp, bitter laugh that surprised even me.
“You what?”
“We didn’t do anything official,” she said quickly, as if that made it better. “We just had him look at the property online, and he said he has buyers lined up. It could close in under 60 days if you cooperate.”
Cooperate.
Like this was some joint mission we were all on together.
“Mom, you don’t get to cooperate me out of my own house.”
Her tone turned icy.
“You’re being selfish, Evan. Your sister’s about to bring a new life into this world. She’s facing eviction, and you have a house you don’t even need.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Don’t even need?” I said slowly. “Mom, this is my home, my safe place, the only thing that’s mine. I nearly worked myself into the ground to afford this. And you think I should just throw it away because my sister had bad luck.”
“She didn’t have bad luck,” my mom snapped. “Matt losing his job wasn’t his fault. And your sister’s worked hard, too. She’s going to be a mother.”
“I’m happy for her,” I said flatly. “But I’m not sacrificing my future so she can have a baby shower with matching curtains.”
That earned me a cold silence, then a click as she hung up.
For a moment, I just stood there staring at the dead phone line, feeling that familiar cocktail of guilt and anger.
Growing up, that was always my role. The fixer. The one who gave up his spot, stayed home from the trip, lent out his stuff.
My sister was the baby, the golden child. If she cried, I was told to hand over whatever I had.
But now, standing in my kitchen looking around at the house I fought tooth and nail to buy, I felt something else rising under the anger.
Resolve.
2 days later, I got proof that this wasn’t just talk.
I came home from the grocery store and saw a car parked out front. A man in a blazer was standing on the sidewalk taking photos of my house.
I walked right up to him.
“Can I help you?”
He smiled politely.
“Oh, you must be Evan. I’m Tom. Your parents asked me to do a quick exterior evaluation for a potential listing.”