I didn’t know it yet, but the “parasite” was about to bite back.
The next morning, the silence in the house was heavy, suffocating. When I walked into the kitchen, my dad was already at the table, clutching his mug like a weapon. Melissa was in her silk robe, scrolling through Instagram, and Mom was frying eggs as if she hadn’t watched her husband assault me twelve hours prior.
“Well?” Dad said, not looking up. “Transfer go through yet?”
I didn’t answer. I set my bag on the counter, the leather heavy with the hard drive I had pulled from my personal laptop the night before.
“You’re not walking out without paying up,” he barked.
I paused at the door, turning just enough to meet his eyes. “You’ll get what’s coming to you,” I said.
He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “She’s finally learning to threaten like family,” Mom smirked, flipping an egg.
