For the next six hours, I watched them move my brother’s life into my home.
At first, they carried boxes into the basement.
I allowed myself one moment of grim satisfaction.
At least they were following my mother’s original plan.
That satisfaction lasted three hours.
Kyle reappeared on camera inside my bedroom, directing his friends to push my bed against the wall.
“The couch goes there,” he said, pointing to where my reading chair had been. “And the TV mount needs to go on that wall. Brittany wants the closet cleared out by tonight.”
One of his friends looked uncomfortable.
“Dude, isn’t this your sister’s room?”
Kyle waved him off.
“She’s got like three bedrooms. She doesn’t need the big one. Besides, it’s not like she’s going to say anything. Myra’s like pathologically non-confrontational.”
I took another screenshot.
By midafternoon, my mother arrived.
