Another pause. Then my brother’s voice in the background—muffled but clear. “Hailey, give me the phone.”
She didn’t. Instead, she raised her volume. “See? Even now you’re demanding. We’re married, Kayla. Adults. We don’t need your approval or your money anymore.”
I leaned against the counter, voice low. “The condo you’re probably unpacking in right now? That’s on my dime—monthly payment straight from my account. And the Europe study fund, thirty‑five grand I saved for his post‑grad trip? That’s mine, too.”
Hailey snorted. “Please. Dylan’s got sponsorships lined up. My follower count just hit two hundred thousand—brands are throwing deals at us. We’ll cover the condo ourselves. Transfer the title whenever. As for the fund, consider it a wedding gift. We’re cashing in early.”
“Gift? I scraped for years to build that. So that’s it—you cut me out, insult me, and expect me to keep footing the bill?”
My brother finally spoke, closer to the phone now. “Sis—Hailey’s right. You’ve done a lot, yeah. But it comes with strings. I’m twenty‑nine. I don’t need you managing my life anymore.”