She Told Me to Move Out at Christmas Dinner—Forgetting I Paid Every Bill in That House

to make room for the golden child.

Ironically accurate.

I lined the bags by the door. Looked at the room one last time — the bed, neatly made, the soft gray paint I’d chosen over the builder beige that came with the place.

The first pale streaks of winter sunrise slipped through the blinds.

“Enjoy it,” I whispered to the empty room. “Enjoy the light while continue reading …