“It’s not fair. You’re barely in that room anyway. You work all day while I actually need the lighting. Dad, tell her to give it to me.”
My father cleared his throat, refusing to look me in the eye.
“Alicia, come on. Your sister needs the space for her project. Just move downstairs for a few months. Don’t make a big deal out of this.”
“It’s my room, Dad,” I said firmly, keeping my voice entirely calm. “And the answer is no.”
Brenda’s face flushed red with sudden vindictive rage. She slammed both hands onto the table, standing up and pointing a trembling finger at my face.
“I am sick and tired of your disrespect in this house,” Brenda shouted, her voice echoing off the walls. “Either give your master bedroom to your younger sister by tomorrow morning, or pack your bags and get out of this house forever. We don’t need your arrogant attitude here.”
I looked at my father, waiting to see if he would finally step up, reveal the truth, or defend his biological daughter.
But Richard just lowered his head, staring silently at his napkin, completely subservient to his wife’s demands.
Vanessa smirked from across the table, crossing her arms in triumph.
In that brief, quiet moment, any remaining thread of filial loyalty I held for my father permanently snapped.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t yell. I didn’t slam a single dish.
“All right,” I said quietly.
I stood up from the table, walked upstairs to my room, and closed the door.
I pulled two large hard shell suitcases from my closet and systematically packed my high-end wardrobe, my personal documents, my laptop, my mother’s jewelry, and every single valuable item I owned.