Greg nodded a lot, asked a few clarifying questions.
Then he leaned back and said, “You’ve been holding up a house of cards, Aaron, and it sounds like you finally stopped playing.”
He helped me draft formal account closures, pulled credit checks to flag anything suspicious, and even offered to send cease and desist letters if they tried to use my name for anything again.
He didn’t even flinch when I told him they had passwords to some of my streaming services, too.
Just chuckled and said, “Let them miss an episode of The Crown.”
That night, I drove by the house again.
I didn’t stop, just slowed down enough to catch a glimpse.
The windows were dark, Christmas lights still up, but half of them were out.
A fitting metaphor, honestly.
I imagine the scene inside.
Mom probably pacing with a cordless phone. Dad flipping through mail. Melanie complaining about how she couldn’t even post her holiday outfit without Wi-Fi.
I felt detached.
Not angry, not bitter, just tired.
Tired in a way that doesn’t go away with sleep.
And then, right on Q, the group chat exploded.
Melanie texted, “So, I guess you think you’re teaching us a lesson.”
Dad texted, “Grow up, Aaron. You’re punishing your mother for something she didn’t even say.”
Mom texted, “We’re your family. Don’t forget who raised you. This is cruel.”
Even my cousin Jason chimed in.
A guy who hadn’t spoken to me since he crashed my car senior year and never paid a dime.
“This is just petty, man. Hope it was worth ruining everyone’s holiday.”
I didn’t reply.
Not yet.
Instead, I went back to my hotel room, made some tea, and opened a folder I hadn’t touched in a long time.
One labeled next chapter.
It was a collection of things I’d been quietly saving.
Job offers from out of state, apartment listings in cities where no one knew me, a few brochures for grad schools I never had the time or money to consider before.
Suddenly, it didn’t seem so ridiculous.
But before any of that could begin, I had one more thing to do.
The next morning, I sent a message to the group chat.
Just one.
No paragraphs, no lectures.
“Accounts closed, utilities are in your names now. Merry Christmas.”