My parents worshipped my little sister so much that the second she landed a basic marketing job, they sat me down and called me a “freeloader,” telling me I’d been hiding in my “safe little HR job” for five years—and kicked me out. The next morning, she strutted into her shiny new office, smirking, “Here to beg for a maid job?” I smiled, opened my folder, and slid it across the table. “No, Sarah. I’m here to deliver your termination letter.”

The TV was off. No cooking show blaring, no noise from Dad yelling at the news. Mom, Dad, and Sarah sat on the couch like they were waiting for an intervention camera crew. The coffee table had been cleared. Two mugs of coffee sat untouched.

“Hey,” I said, setting my laptop bag down. “What’s going on?”

Dad gestured to the armchair across from the couch, his face grave. “Sit down, Leavonne. We need to talk.”

The last time he used that tone, I was ten and had accidentally broken one of Mom’s stupid collectible figurines while dusting.

I sat.

Mom folded her hands in her lap dramatically. Sarah tucked her hair behind her ear and tried to look sad, but I noticed the corner of her mouth twitch.

Dad sighed. “You’re twenty-six,” he began. “You’ve been living in this house for five years since college. Your mother and I are… tired.”

“Tired?” I echoed. “Tired of what?”

“Of supporting you,” he said bluntly.

I actually laughed.

“Supporting me?” I repeated. “Dad, I pay rent.”

“Not enough,” Mom interjected. “You give us a little money, buy the occasional groceries. But the bulk of the burden has been on us.”

I stared at her.

“For five years, I’ve paid you what we agreed was a fair amount,” I said slowly. “I pay my own car insurance, my own phone bill, my own gas, my own health insurance. I buy most of the groceries I eat and yours when I cook. I pay the internet bill. And I do all the housework that Sarah doesn’t.”

Sarah huffed. “I do plenty.”

“You do your laundry on my day off and leave your hair in the drain,” I said. “That’s not ‘plenty.’ That’s… Wednesday.”

“Don’t get snippy,” Mom snapped. “Sarah just got a job. At Sterling & Associates. She’s finally on her way. She’s showing initiative. She’s going somewhere.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I blinked.

“Your sister,” Dad said, his chest puffing a little. “She landed a marketing coordinator position. Sterling & Associates. Big firm. Big opportunity. She’s ready to be independent.”

“Congratulations,” I said to Sarah reflexively. “That’s great.”

Sarah smiled, smug and sharp.