“They Took My Office Without Asking — And Chose the Worst Possible Room”

them with steady purpose—my monitors, my books, my carefully organized files. Each trip from house to truck felt like stepping out of a story someone else had written for me and into one I was writing myself.

“Maya,” my father called. “Come on. This is dramatic.”

Ethan found his voice long enough to scoff: “Good luck paying Bay Area rent.”

As if he had continue reading …