I noticed Lily standing near the stairs, barely visible but impossible to ignore. She looked small in a way that had nothing to do with her size. Her shoulders were tight, her eyes uncertain.

That image alone made my decision absolute. There was no room left for compromise or hesitation.
I handed them the eviction notice fully, explaining calmly that the law required thirty days. They would get that time—but nothing more.

This wasn’t punishment. It was a boundary. And it was one they had forced me to draw.
My mother scoffed, dismissing Lily as “dramatic,” as if fear and confusion were exaggerations. That single word deepened the divide even further.

I turned immediately and told Lily to go to her room. Not because she had done anything wrong—but because she shouldn’t have to witness what came next.
Protecting her meant more than just keeping a roof over her head. It meant shielding her from being diminished, ignored, or pushed aside.

Behind me, my parents continued arguing, their voices rising as they tried to reclaim control of a situation they had already lost.