Emily was gripping the edge of the counter, her knuckles turning white.
“I’m not complaining. Jason took my car again. He’s had a flat tire for weeks and hasn’t fixed it. I have to get to work.”
“Jason needs the car today,” Rebecca replied, as if it were undeniable. “He’s had some stressful days.”
Emily let out a dry laugh.
“Stressful? From staying up all night playing and sitting in the yard? I’m the one who works. I’m the one who keeps this house afloat.”
Before Rebecca could answer, the back door opened and Frank, her father, came in, his hands slick with grease from working on an old motorcycle he restored—often with parts bought with money he’d secretly taken from Emily. He didn’t ask what was going on. His irritation was already directed at her.
“Why are you always causing trouble?” he muttered. “Can’t we have a quiet morning?”
Emily felt that familiar pressure in her chest—the feeling of being blamed even before she spoke.
“I just need my keys. If I’m late again, I’ll be penalized.”
Finally, Rebecca turned to her, her expression sharp.
“Stop exaggerating. Get someone to drive me. You live here for free, eat here, use everything. At least you can share the car with your brother.”
Emily froze.
