Three days after I lost my job, Mom texted, “Your brother needs the apartment more than you do.” When I got home, his boxes were already in my bedroom, and Dad calmly said, “You’re unemployed. You can stay with a friend.”

impulsively.

But someone had gone through my personal files, packed my things, and prepared my home for another adult without speaking to me once.

I returned to the living room.

“Who gave any of you authority to decide who lives here?”

Dad smiled slightly.

Not warmly.

The smile he used when one of his children said something he considered naive.

“Jesse, you rent this place.”

The room went still.

“Stop acting like you own the property.”

I looked at him.

Dad had no idea how accurate that sentence was about