Page 64 of Letting Go

“I already accepted a new position,” I say, keeping my tone even. “I start next month.”

There’s a beat of silence. Not impressed. Not relieved. Just… assessing.

“Oh,” she says finally, lips pursing like she bit into a lemon she didn’t expect. “That’s good. We were a little worried, that’s all. You know, with your name still on the insurance, and the cars”

“Everything’s covered,” I cut in, and I hear the edge in my voice. Too sharp. Too final. “I’ll continue to pay for the insurance and your groceries, but I will no longer be paying for the Mercedes outside or any other expense, starting next month.”

That hits like a slap in a silk glove.

My mother’s jaw actually drops. She sputters, yes, sputters, like I’ve just told her the country club’s been turned into a Taco Bell. My father sets down his mug a little too hard, ceramic clinking against granite.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asks, every syllable tight with offense. Like I’ve just insulted the flag.

I breathe. Slow. Controlled. No yelling. Not today.

“I’ve had enough,” I say, levelling my gaze at them, and for once, they both flinch. “Enough of the guilt trips. Enough of the gaslighting. Enough of being treated like your personal ATM.”

My mother lets out a soft, horrified gasp. My father scowls, but I don’t let up.

“You are my parents,” I continue, holding up a hand like I’m issuing a cease and desist. “And I would never leave you destitute. So yes, I will continue to pay for the insurance. The groceries. The utilities of this house you refuse to downsize. But the rest? Your luxury cars, your spa packages, your country club fees and the high-speed fibre internet that costs more than my first apartment? That’s on you now.”

My mother puts a trembling hand to her pearls like they might stop her from combusting.

“You’re our daughter,” she breathes. “Family helps family.”

“No,” I say, stepping closer, eyes like steel. “Family doesn't manipulate each other with passive aggressive voicemails and weaponized silence. Family doesn’t twist the narrative so their daughter looks like a villain for choosing herself. Family doesn't spend money like water and call it love.”

And just when I think they’ve run out of things to throw at me, my mother goes in for the kill.

“Is this why Mike left you?” she hisses, voice suddenly low and venomous. “Because you’re a heartless bitch?”

The silence that follows is ice cold. So, they know that we’re divorcing. And the first thing she says about it, is to call me a bitch. Classy.

I give her a tight smile, absolutely done with their bullshit.

“No,” I say evenly. “I kicked Mike out. Because I found him screwing your teenage daughter on our bed.”

The room tilts.

My father’s eyes go wide, like someone rewrote the rules of the universe and didn’t tell him. My mother staggers back a step, hand clamped over her mouth like she’s trying to catch the words before they stain the air.

“That’s not-” she starts, but I cut her off.

“I have the video, if you’d like to see it.”

And oh, she’s appalled now. Not horrified that her son in law was fucking her youngest daughter. No.

Horrified that I had the gall to document it.

“You filmed your sister?” she gasps, like I’m the criminal here. “You need to delete that. That’s... that’s disgusting.”

I stare at her, jaw clenched, fury simmering low and hot in my gut. “Do you even hear yourself?”

She opens her mouth to speak again, but I steamroll right over it.

“You don’t care what Mike did. You don’t care that your son-in-law took advantage of Keira You don’t care that your eldest daughter watched her marriage go up in flames. You just care that someone might find out. That it might make you look bad.”

Her eyes shine, not with remorse, God, I wish it were that, but with indignation. She’s not sorry. She’s exposed.

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