The story continues

We don’t have our own kitchen, our own bathroom, or the certainty of a future. She leaned forward. “But we do have one thing: we don’t live at someone else’s expense, and we don’t pretend it’s normal.” “You could have just talked,” Zosia said sharply. “And not put on this show.” “I tried,” Klara replied. “You didn’t hear. You only heard one word: ‘credit.’ As if it were a magic spell that absolved us of our conscience.” Tomasz exhaled heavily. “It’s hard for us,” he said. “Do you think it’s easy for us? The mortgage, preschool, food…” “Do you think it’s easy for us?” Marek spoke for the first time. “Do you really think that just because you have credit, we should be your free restaurant?” Zosia jumped up. “Enough. We’re leaving.” She grabbed her purse and yanked her jacket off the hanger. “Let’s go,” she said to Tomasz. “We’re not welcome here.” Zuzia looked at the table, then at Klara. “Aunt Klara…” Klara approached, crouched, and hugged the girl. “I love you. And you’re always welcome here. Remember that.” Zosia looked away. It hurt more than any scream. The door slammed loudly. A strange silence fell over the apartment—heavy, but cleansing. Klara slowly sank into the chair. Her hands were trembling. “Did I do the right thing?” she asked quietly.