I tried to set boundaries. Tyler laughed them off. Mom accused me of selfishness.
Soon, I wasn’t just housing them. I was their maid. The one who fetched Gwen’s midnight cravings, who woke at dawn to buy McMuffins she threw away, who cleaned and cooked and swallowed every insult because the word “pregnant” excused everything.
Even my birthday passed unnoticed. My friend Zoe had dropped off cupcakes, but when I came home, Gwen patted her belly smugly. “The baby wanted them.”
That night, I bought a lock for my mini-fridge. By morning, Mom had opened it with her spare key.
“Family doesn’t lock each other out,” she scolded.
“No,” I whispered back. “Family doesn’t steal either.”
But they never heard me.
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