For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

“You stole my card?”

“Borrowed,” he said. “And emptied the account.”

I lunged for it, but he moved faster, pressing it beneath his palm. “Relax. It’s family  money anyway.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Mom let out a soft laugh, like I was a child making a scene. “It was a smart decision. You’ve been hoarding money while living under this roof.”

The room seemed to turn cold. “How much did you take?”

Jason shrugged lazily. “Everything.”

With shaking hands, I grabbed my phone, opened my banking app, and felt the blood drain from my face. Savings: $0.43. Checking: $12.11. The transaction history showed withdrawal after withdrawal from two ATMs across town. Then a wire transfer. He had drained nearly $38,000.

“That was my money for graduate school,” I whispered.

Jason stood up. He was taller than me, broader, and he knew it. “Not anymore.”

“Give it back.”

“No.”

Dad stood as well, folding his arms. “You’ve been staying here for almost two years. Bills, food, utilities. Your mother and I decided this evens things out.”

“Evens things out?” My voice cracked. “You never asked me for rent.”

Mom gave a small shrug. “We shouldn’t have had to.”

I looked at each of them and saw no shame. Not even discomfort. Only relief—relief that they had taken what they wanted and no longer had to pretend I mattered.

Jason grabbed the suitcase, opened the front door, and shoved it onto the porch. Cold March air rushed in.

“You can go now,” he said. “And don’t come crawling back.”