“I’m eighteen. This is my home too.”
She stared at me.
For once, I didn’t explain myself further.
Aunt Ria arrived the following morning.
“Without asking me?”
Vanessa met her in the living room.
“This is ridiculous,” she said. “Zoe’s upset about an old letter. She made it sound like I treat her terribly.”
Aunt Ria turned to me.
“Zoe, tell me what your days have been like.”
I took a breath.
“I get up before six. I make breakfast and prepare Vanessa’s lunch.”
“This is ridiculous.”
Vanessa interrupted.
“Those are normal chores.”
“I do most of the laundry after school. Then dinner. Sometimes I don’t start studying until ten.”
“You’re making ordinary responsibilities sound awful.”
I looked at her.
Vanessa interrupted.
“Then why don’t you share them?”
She stopped speaking.
Aunt Ria leaned forward.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Zoe?”
That question hurt.
