Dad asked Celia the same question three times.

Each time, she answered something different.

“It’s a household agreement.”

“It protects us.”

“She wanted help moving out.”

On the third answer, I finally lifted my head.

“I didn’t.”

Celia looked at me.

I had seen that look across dinner tables, through half-open bedroom doors, beside the refrigerator when I reached for food she said I hadn't bought.

For once, I kept looking back.

“I didn’t ask to move out.”

Dad placed the receipt on the console.

“Naomi, take your money upstairs.”

My stomach tightened.

Upstairs meant alone. Upstairs meant he and Celia would talk, and later she would come find me with a new version of what he had supposedly decided.

He must have seen it.

“No,” he said softly. “You’re staying with me. I just meant put it somewhere safe.”

I tucked the bills into my bag.

Celia laughed without smiling.

“Listen to yourself. You’re treating me like a criminal.”

Dad took out his phone.

“Who is the buyer?”

“There isn't a buyer yet.”

“Five seconds ago, you said we needed to discuss this privately.”

“I was exploring options.”

“Using whose permission?”

She crossed her arms.

“You travel constantly. Someone has to make decisions.”

I watched his jaw tighten.

Then he turned to me.

“What else did she tell you I agreed to?”

There were too many things.

I couldn't find a place to begin.

Celia moved toward him.

“Raymond, she’s upset. Let her calm down.”

“She can speak while she’s upset.”

I stared at the photograph on the console.

“My grocery shelf.”

Dad blinked.

“What?”

“I have one shelf in the refrigerator. She said you wanted me to buy all my own food.”

Celia rolled her eyes.

“She’s an adult.”

“And the laundry?”

Dad’s voice was barely above a whisper.

I nodded.

“She charged me twenty dollars a week to use the washer.”

He closed his eyes.

“I bought that washer for you both.”

“Electricity isn’t free,” Celia said.

“And I pay the utility bills.”

The silence afterward was terrible.

Dad asked me to sit in the living room.

He sat beside me, close enough that our knees touched, while Celia stayed standing.

For a moment, I couldn't remember the last time he had sat beside me without her in the room.

He asked about my room.

I told him she had moved me into the small room at the back because she wanted my old bedroom for guests.

He asked about dinner.

I told him I usually ate after work.

“Where?”

“In my room.”

“Why?”

I twisted my bag strap.

“Because I wasn’t contributing enough to use the dining room every night.”

Celia slapped her palm against the back of a chair.

“This is absurd.”

I stopped speaking immediately.

Dad turned toward her.

“That reaction. Right there.”

“What reaction?”

“She stopped because you made a noise.”

I felt heat rise into my face.

I hated that he could see it.

I hated more that I couldn't control it.

Dad stood and called his older sister.

“Aunt June?” I whispered.

He nodded.

Celia’s face changed.

“Don’t involve your family in our marriage.”

He waited for the call to connect.

“June, I need you at the house.”

A pause.

“No. Naomi needs you.”

That sentence made my eyes fill again.

Aunt June arrived twenty minutes later carrying her purse and the kind of expression I remembered from childhood, when somebody had hurt someone she loved.

She came straight to me.

“Baby.”

I stood, and she wrapped both arms around me.

I hadn't realized how tired I was until someone else held my weight.

Celia started talking before Aunt June let go.

“This has been blown completely out of proportion.”

June looked at Dad.

He handed her the receipt.

She read it without saying a word.

Then she asked me, “Did you sign anything else?”

I nodded.

Celia’s voice sharpened.

“Naomi, think carefully before you answer.”

Aunt June turned.

“She will. You can stop helping.”

Dad called a lawyer whose office had handled paperwork after Mom died.

The office was closed, but he left a message explaining that documents involving the house might have been signed under false pretenses.

Then he sent photographs of the receipt.

Celia demanded to know whether he was recording her.

“No,” he said. “I’m documenting what I found.”

She went upstairs.

I heard a drawer open.

Then another.

Dad started toward the stairs.

“Celia?”

“I’m getting my things.”

He stayed at the bottom.

Aunt June sat beside me.

“Where are your papers?”

“My room.”

“Would you like me to go with you?”

I nodded so quickly that I felt ashamed.

She squeezed my hand.

“You don’t have to apologize for wanting company.”

My room looked worse with someone else in it.

The narrow bed. The folded boxes. My mother’s quilt tucked into a plastic storage bag because Celia said it made the house look old.

June touched one of the boxes.

“Were you packing?”

“She gave me until Friday.”

Today was Tuesday.

My aunt breathed in slowly.

I opened the bottom drawer of my desk.

There were receipts, old bank envelopes, and a folder Celia had labeled RESPONSIBILITY.

June didn't open anything without asking.

That nearly undid me.

Downstairs, a door slammed.

We hurried to the landing.

Celia stood in the foyer with an overnight case.

“This is what she wanted,” she told Dad. “Congratulations. Your daughter finally has you to herself.”

Dad didn’t answer.

She looked up at me.

“You’ll regret making him choose.”

Aunt June stepped forward.

“He can love his daughter without you punishing her for it.”

Celia left.

I waited for relief.

Instead, I started shaking.

Dad came upstairs, saw the boxes, and stopped in my doorway.

Then my phone vibrated.

A message from Celia.

Tell him about the other signature. Let’s see how much he believes you then.