I stared at her.
“No, it’s about respect. And you lost mine a long time ago.”
She scoffed.
“You could have just said no instead of blowing up everyone’s vacation.”
I stepped forward.
“I did say no. You just never listened. You heard no as try again later.”
Aunt Melanie jumped in, her tone falsely sweet.
“Let’s not forget we’re family. We’ve all made mistakes, but isn’t forgiveness part of that?”
“Funny,” I said. “That only comes up when you need something.”
I walked over to the small side table by the TV, picked up a slim black folder, and turned back to them.
“Which brings me to this.”
I opened it.
“Inside is a notorized notice stating that effective immediately, you are no longer authorized to use any account, travel service, or reward point under my name. The joint bank card has been closed. The shared airline mileage plan erased. All linked payment methods gone.”
I handed the folder to my dad.
He took it with a stunned expression.
“I didn’t come here to scream or cry,” I said. “I came to end this.”
My mom’s voice cracked.
“We can change.”
“No,” I said. “You can’t, and that’s okay, but I don’t owe you another chance to hurt me just because we shared DNA.”
Grandma finally spoke.
Her voice was thin, trembling.
“What do you want us to say?”
I looked at her, the only one whose gaze held genuine regret.
“Nothing,” I said softly. “I don’t want words anymore. I want distance. I want space to build a life that doesn’t revolve around being forgotten.”
Mark, who’ sat silent the whole time, suddenly stood up.
“I’m staying,” he said, voice clear. “I felt this, too. I just didn’t have the guts to say it.”
He walked to my side.
The room shifted.
Everyone else just watched.
My father stood.
“Isaac, don’t do this.”
“I didn’t,” I replied. “You did. I’m just finishing it.”
I walked to the door, unlocked it, opened it.