Chapter 3A House Without a Place for Me

Back in my cramped one-bedroom rental in the city, I finally let the mask drop.

The second the door clicked shut behind me, my legs gave out.

I slid down against it, crumpling onto the floor.

My suitcase tipped over beside me, spilling clothes and toiletries across the hardwood—scattered, broken, just like me.

I couldn't hold it in anymore.

I buried my face in my knees and let out the sob I'd been choking down all day.

Tears came in hot, violent waves, splashing onto the floor and spreading into dark, uneven stains.

Why?

I kept asking myself, over and over.

Ever since I was a kid, I'd worked myself to the bone. Straight A's. Scholarships. Awards. All of it, just to hear them say they were proud of me.

But every time I brought home a certificate, Dad would just nod. "That's what you're supposed to do. Set an example for your brothers."

Mom would say, "Don't get cocky. Keep it up next time."

But when Aaron made the top ten in his class once, they threw a whole damn dinner party.

After I graduated, I busted my ass. Three years, and I made it to Marketing Director at a publicly traded company.

I sent money home every month—more than Garrett and Aaron combined.

Mom's response? A text: [Got it.]

Last year, Aaron said he wanted a new car. Mom and Dad didn't even blink. They handed over forty thousand from their savings.

Me? I hadn't asked them for a dime since college.

I thought my independence, my success, would make them see me differently.

I thought if I was good enough, strong enough, I could finally be someone they were proud of.

Turns out, I was kidding myself.

To them, I was just the daughter—disposable, like water poured out of a cup. An outsider.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed violently on the table, the screen lighting up with: Dad.

That glow cut through the darkness of the room like a spotlight.

I stared at his name, tears streaming harder.

My hand shook as I reached for it. I slammed the red button.

It rang again immediately.

Once. Twice. Three times.

I kept hanging up, each press draining me more than the last.

Then the caller ID changed to Mom.

I hung up again.

Then Garrett.

A text popped up.

[Sandra, pick up! Mom and Dad are freaking out!]

I stared at the message, a bitter laugh escaping my throat. My fingers flew across the screen.

[Freaking out about what? I'm not part of the family anyway.]

SEND.

Then I powered off my phone and hurled it onto the couch.

Finally, silence.

My best friend, Sienna, tried to FaceTime me. When it didn't go through, she started spamming texts.

[Sandra, what's going on? You turned your phone off? Are you okay? TEXT ME BACK!]

I didn't have the energy to respond.

I just sat there on the cold floor, until my limbs went numb.

The next morning, my alarm dragged me out of sleep.

When I turned my phone back on, notifications exploded across the screen.

218 missed calls.

99+ text messages.

All from my family.

I stared at the screen, expression blank.

Then, one by one, I deleted every single contact.

Dad. Mom. Garrett. Aaron.

When the last name disappeared from my list, I felt something inside me hollow out completely.

Good.

From now on, Sandra Phillips didn't have a family.

I didn't have to beg for scraps of their approval anymore.