My mom kicked me out of my office for my brother, forgetting I paid the mortgage, and the moment my desk scraped across that spare-room floor, I understood what I really was in that house.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Deborah said.

She began unhooking my calendar from the wall. The whiteboard where I had mapped out the next three quarters of risk assessments. She erased a week’s worth of deadlines with the swipe of her thumb.

“The kitchen is too high-traffic. Carter needs quiet for recording.”

“I need quiet,” I said, my voice rising just a fraction. “I have client meetings. I handle sensitive financial data. I cannot work in a common area.”

Carter let out a sigh, the kind of sound a teenager makes when asked to take out the garbage. He turned his phone camera toward me and for a second I panicked, wondering if he was live-streaming this.

“The basement is free,” Carter said. He gestured vaguely toward the floor. “It’s underground, so the sound isolation is actually better. Natural soundproofing. Plus, you don’t need natural light for spreadsheets, right? It’s just numbers.”

The basement.

They meant the laundry room. A concrete box next to a twenty-year-old furnace that shuddered every time it kicked on. A room with one flickering fluorescent bulb and a ceiling height of six feet. A room where the Wi-Fi signal went to die.

“You want me to work in the laundry room?” I said. It wasn’t a question.

“It’s a home office suite,” Deborah corrected, using that tone she uses when she is trying to rewrite reality. “We can put a rug down. It will be cozy. Carter is launching his podcast next week. Kayla, this is his big break. He has 300 followers on TikTok already. He needs a professional environment.”

I looked at the monitors. The calendar notification blinked in the corner of the right screen.

Meeting with VP of Operations. 8:00 a.m. tomorrow.

I looked at Carter. He was already peeling a strip of adhesive off a box of LED lights he had brought in. He hadn’t bought those lights. I knew he hadn’t.

I paid the credit card bill last week. I recognized the charge from Amazon. Fifty dollars for lighting equipment.

I had paid for the very lights he was using to displace me.

I looked at Deborah. She was beaming at him. She looked at him with a hunger, a desperate need for him to be the special one. The creative genius who just needed a little push.

She looked at me and she saw a utility bill. She saw a checking account. She saw a piece of furniture that could be shoved into the basement to make room for the art.

“Carter needs this,” Deborah said softly, placing a hand on my arm. It was meant to be comforting, but it felt like a shackle. “You’re established, Kayla. You’re strong. You can work anywhere. He just needs a launchpad. Be a sister. Help him out.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. It was a slow, heavy thud. If I argued, I knew exactly what would happen. Deborah would cry. She would talk about how hard she tried to keep this family happy. Carter would storm out, claiming I was sabotaging his creative process. That I was jealous of his freedom.

I would be the villain. The cold corporate robot who didn’t care about art or family or dreams.

And nothing would change.

The desk was already moved. The decision had been made over dinner while I was upstairs working.

I looked at the Ethernet cable stretched to its limit. One more inch and the head would have snapped off in the port. They had severed me. They just didn’t know it yet.

“Okay,” I said.

The word hung in the air.

Carter stopped peeling the adhesive. Deborah blinked, surprised by the lack of a fight.

“Okay?” Deborah asked.

“Okay,” I said again.

I reached out and saved my spreadsheet. I closed the laptop. I powered down the monitors. The screens went black, reflecting the two of them standing in my space.

“You’re right,” I said. “The basement is quieter.”

“See?” Carter grinned, clapping his hands together. “I told you she’d get it. Thanks, K. You won’t regret this when I’m sponsored by energy drink companies. I’ll buy you a new whatever it is you do.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Sure.”

I unplugged the surge protector. I began coiling the thick power cables. I didn’t unplug the monitors or the heavy equipment yet. I just took my laptop, my external encrypted hard drive, and my physical notebook.

“I’ll move the big stuff tomorrow,” I lied. “I’ll set up downstairs tonight.”

“Perfect,” Deborah said. She was already mentally measuring the windows for blackout curtains. “I’ll help you carry the laundry baskets out of the way later.”