But apparently, they considered mine fair game.
“Has Jessi actually agreed to this yet?” Flynn asked.
My mother gave another dismissive laugh.
“We haven’t mentioned it to her yet.”
Chloe giggled.
“Mom…”
“What? When we lay it out for her, she’ll understand.
She makes fantastic money.
She can easily find another place to lease.”
My father added, “We gave her everything growing up.
I don’t expect her to turn selfish now.”
Then Chloe said something that made the betrayal feel even colder.
“Well, I already posted online that we’re moving in January.”
Everyone laughed.
“You posted what?”
“A photo of her building’s exterior.
I captioned it: ‘Finally starting our new chapter.’ Everyone in my group is asking if we bought the place.”
“Well, let them think whatever they want,” my mother replied smoothly.
I stared down at the cake box.
For a moment, I imagined storming into the room and slamming it onto the table.
I imagined screaming.
I imagined demanding to know when my hard work had somehow become an obligation to surrender my home to Chloe.
Instead, I did nothing.
I drew a slow breath, walked in, and smiled brightly.
“Merry Christmas, everyone.”
For a fraction of a second, all four went silent.
Then Mom stood and wrapped me in a hug.
“Sweetheart, you made it!”
Chloe smiled as if she hadn’t just been assigning herself my property.
“I thought you’d be late.”
I set the food on the table.
“Finished early.”
Then I sat down.
We ate.
We talked about meaningless things.
Mom told us about a neighbor.
Dad complained about holiday traffic.
Chloe excitedly described expensive furniture she had been browsing.
Flynn announced he was close to landing a “massive deal.”
I smiled through all of it.
When coffee came out, Chloe casually asked, “Hey, Jessi, do you happen to remember the exact length of your living room wall?”
I looked directly at her.
“Not off the top of my head.”
“Ah, bummer.
I saw this gorgeous sectional online.”
Mom kicked her beneath the table.
I pretended not to notice.
At 10:30, I excused myself, locked myself in the bathroom, and checked my phone.
There was a message from Marcus, the real estate broker who had helped me assess neighborhood values months earlier.
Since October, he had repeatedly mentioned an institutional buyer—a corporate investor looking for move-in-ready three-bedroom units in my building to lease to transferred executives.
I had always declined.
That night, I typed:
