Her expression hardened. “Must be nice to hoard.”
After she left, I typed three lines in my notes app.
No more loans.
No more rescue.
No more discussing it.
Then I went on vacation.
Later, I pieced together what happened while I was gone. Savannah’s debt had finally become too loud to ignore. My parents panicked. My mother found a cash buyer through someone at church. My father brought confidence. Savannah brought entitlement. They met a man named Brent at a diner and told him they had authority to sell my house while I was traveling. My mother signed my name in shaky block letters. My father witnessed it. Savannah filmed a celebratory little video over cheap champagne flutes. The wire hit my parents’ joint account the next day.
They paid off Savannah’s debt. Covered some of their own bills. Started talking about a “family reset.” They really believed they had authority over something in my life because they could see its outline.
When I landed in Charlotte, I drove straight from the airport to the property.
There was a moving truck in the driveway.