“Actually, I’m here to pack your bags.”
Monica’s spoon clattered against the countertop, her face a tableau of shock. “Excuse me?” she snapped, but her voice wavered slightly.
I crossed my arms, standing firm. “You heard me. This is Emma’s home as much as it is anyone else’s. You don’t get to dictate who belongs here.”
She scoffed, trying to regain her composure. “Your father and I have decided—”
I cut her off. “No, Monica, you’ve decided. And you’ve convinced Dad to go along with it because he’s too wrapped up in your world. But this is not how family works. You don’t just erase someone’s existence because it’s inconvenient for you.”
