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

an unfamiliar number: “You’re petty.”

I didn’t reply.

By day seven, my mother left a tearful voicemail about how stressed my father was, how they hadn’t meant to hurt me, how Ethan was “sensitive.” I deleted it without finishing.

On day ten, my father called with real desperation. “The furnace quit. It’s freezing. We don’t have money for a repair.”

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