“You’re twenty-five now, Olivia. It’s time you moved out,” she said, as if she were stating something obvious, something already decided. “Your cousin needs the room more than you do.”
The words didn’t just land—they hit like a shockwave.
Olivia stood there, her brain struggling to process what she had just heard. “My… cousin?” she repeated faintly.
“Ethan Brooks,” Rebecca clarified. “He’s been going through a difficult time. He needs somewhere stable to stay, and this house is the best option.”
Olivia glanced down at her suitcases again, a hollow feeling spreading through her chest.
“You packed my things?” she asked quietly.
Rebecca nodded once, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “While you were at work. It seemed easier that way. I didn’t want to make a scene.”
A scene.
Olivia almost laughed, but the sound never came out.
Her entire life had just been boxed up and placed outside, and her mother called it avoiding a scene.
For a long moment, Olivia didn’t say anything. The exhaustion in her bones mixed with something sharper—something deeper. Hurt. Disbelief. A quiet kind of betrayal.
Her place in this house—her home—had been decided without her.
No conversation. No warning.
Just… removal.
Rebecca shifted slightly, her tone softening just enough to sound reasonable. “You’ll figure something out. You’re independent. You’ve got a good job. This is just… the next step.”
Olivia swallowed hard.
Maybe a few years ago, she would have argued. Raised her voice. Tried to fight for her place.
But tonight… she was too tired for anger.
Too tired for pleading.
Instead, she slowly reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.
Rebecca frowned slightly. “What are you doing?”
Olivia didn’t answer.
She scrolled through her contacts, her fingers steady despite the storm quietly building inside her chest. Then she pressed call.
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