After paying $90,000 of my parents’ debt, I came home to find my bedroom given to my sister. They told me to sleep in the closet. They didn’t realize that by opening that door, they had closed their bank account forever.
The smell of fresh paint hit me the moment I unlocked the front door. I was carrying two heavy bags of high-end groceries, the kind my parents couldn’t afford on their pensions. I expected a hug, but instead, I saw my father blocking the hallway.
“We made some changes,” he muttered, avoiding my eyes. He pointed to the back of the kitchen. “Since Abigail is back, she needed the master suite. We set up a cot for you in the pantry.”
I dropped the bags. “The pantry? I pay $1,500 a month toward your mortgage. I paid off your credit cards last winter.” Abigail walked out then, sipping a latte, wearing a silk robe. “Don’t be dramatic,” she smirked. “I need the space for the boys. You’re single.”
I looked at the windowless closet filled with onions and a camping cot. Then I looked at my sister, who had contributed nothing to this family for a decade. “Enjoy the house,” I said, grabbing my keys. “I hope you can afford it.”