My words hung heavy in the air, the silence stretching between us. Monica opened her mouth to retort, but I cut her off.

“I’m taking Emma’s things, yes,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. “But not because you told me to. Because she deserves to feel safe, to feel loved. And right now, this house offers her neither.”

Dad shuffled into the room then, his face a mask of discomfort. I turned my attention to him. “Dad,” I said, and the word came out softer than I intended. It held all the weight of disappointment and hurt. “Emma needs you. She needs us.”

He looked between Monica and me, his expression torn. “It’s complicated,” he murmured.