“Not anymore,” I said. “Now it’s just a building. And you’re trespassing.”
Chapter 5: The Begging
The next ten minutes were a symphony of destruction.
“Start clearing,” the lead mover barked. The uniformed men moved with ruthless efficiency. They didn’t pack carefully.
They swept. They grabbed armfuls of my mother’s precious porcelain dolls and dumped them into boxes with a sickening crunch of breaking glass. They yanked the curtains off the rods.
They cleared the mantelpiece in one swipe. “My figurines!” Linda wailed, trying to grab a box. “Careful!
Those are antiques!”
“They’re junk, ma’am,” the mover said, pushing her aside. “Move or be moved.”
Sheriff Miller stepped up to my mother. “Linda Miller, turn around.
You are under arrest for assault.”
“Sarah!” Linda screamed as the cold steel cuffs clicked onto her wrists. “Tell him to stop! I’m your mother!
It was just a slap! I was teaching you respect!”
“You taught me perfectly,” I said, watching her struggle. “You taught me that might makes right.
And right now, I have the might.”
Karen, realizing the gravity of the situation, changed tactics instantly. Her arrogance evaporated, replaced by a desperate, pathetic wheedling. She rushed to me, grabbing my arm.
“Sarah, wait. Wait! Think about this.
Where am I going to go? I gave up my apartment to move back in here to ‘help’ Mom and Dad. If you kick them out, I’m homeless too!”
“I don’t care,” I said.
“But… but Timmy!” Karen sobbed, tears streaming down her face, ruining her makeup. “You can’t do this to your nephew! He needs a home!
He’s family!”
I peeled her fingers off my arm as if they were covered in slime. “Why not?” I asked softly. “You just said my child was a vegetable.
You said she was a waste of resources. Vegetables don’t feel pity, Karen. Broken things don’t have empathy.”
“I didn’t mean it!” Karen cried.
“I was just stressed! Sarah, please!”
My father, now realizing he couldn’t fight the security team, slumped against the wall. He looked old and small.
“Sarah,” he rasped. “I’m your father. I raised you.
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