“You loved me like a sister?” I repeated, raising a brow. “Is that what you were doing when you laughed about how dumb I was? When you bragged about how I’d never kick you out? Was that sisterly love?”
Her jaw tightened, but she kept going.
“You don’t even need the money. You make plenty. You’re just doing this to be a jerk.”
I sighed. “Lisa, this isn’t about money. This is about the fact that I let you live here out of kindness, and instead of being grateful, you mocked me for it. You disrespected me, Lisa, and now you’re facing the consequences of that.”
She scoffed. “Oh, you’re so high and mighty, aren’t you? Like you’re some perfect little saint. Guess what, Emily? You’re just like your mom.”
I stiffened.
She saw it.
Smirked.
That was low.
My mother had been an emotionally manipulative mess. She guilt-tripped, controlled, made everything about her. I’d spent years unlearning all the ways she tried to twist my mind, and Lisa was doing everything in her power to be just like her.
But I wasn’t falling for it.
“Pack your bags, Lisa,” I said coolly, standing up. “You’re out tomorrow morning.”
Her face darkened, but I walked past her without another word.
The next day, I woke up early. I half expected her to try some last-minute trick, but to my surprise, she actually packed.
Badly. Sloppily. Like she thought that by dragging her feet, she could somehow make me change my mind.
She stood in the doorway, a single suitcase next to her, arms crossed.
“So that’s it, then?” she said bitterly.
“That’s it,” I said.
She let out a dry laugh. “Well, you really don’t care, do you?”
“I did care, Lisa,” I said. “That was the problem.”
She stared at me, waiting like I was supposed to feel bad. Like I was supposed to take it all back and say, “Oh no, Lisa, I didn’t mean it. Please stay.”
But I didn’t.
I just opened the door.
She grabbed her suitcase and stomped out.
She didn’t look back.