"What are you doing here?" His voice sharp and accusatory.
"I live here." My confusion is genuine. "What are you doing here? Why are you using the emergency key I gave you?"
It was supposed to be for emergencies only. We agreed on that. But he's standing in my living room without permission. Without warning. Like it's his right to walk in whenever he wants.
He bristles immediately. Defensive. "I came to take measurements. For the crib. Make sure it fits in the bedroom before we buy it."
"Oh." I don't know what else to say.
"What are you doing here?" he asks again. More aggressive now. Stepping further into the house. Taking up space. "Aren't you supposed to be at your fancy new job?"
There's resentment dripping from every word. Bitterness underneath.
"I needed a break," I say, keeping my voice calm.
"You better not lose that job, Lily." He moves closer. "You're going to need the money when you move out. Speaking of which." He pauses. Looks around at the boxes. "Can you hurry up? I need to get this place ready before the baby comes. There's a lot to do."
The words hit wrong. After everything today. After Luan throwing plates and yelling at me. After feeling like I'm never enough for anyone no matter how hard I try.
"I'll be out by the time I said I would." My voice is sharper now. Firmer. "A week and a half. I need time to sort my things. To find a place to live. To figure out where everything is going."
"You're being selfish."
The accusation lands like a slap.
"I'm not selfish." Heat rises in my chest. "I'm giving you a house, Henry. A house that was left to me. That I could keep. That I could sell. But I'm giving it to you because you need it."
"Aunt Carol was a two-faced bitch who only left it to you because you were her perfect little angel who never did anything wrong."
The words are vicious. Designed to hurt.
And they do.
This isn't about today. This isn't about the house. This is older. Deeper. Years of resentment built up and finally spilling over.
"Don't talk about her like that." I step toward him. My hands are shaking. "She took us in when our parents died. Raised us. A fifteen-year-old teenager and a five-year-old kid. She worked herself to the bone to make sure we had food and clothes and a roof over our heads. She sacrificed everything for us."
"For you," Henry spits. "She sacrificed everything for you. I was just the problem she had to deal with."
"That's not true."
"It is true. And you know it. You were always the good one. The one who did everything right. The one she loved. I was just the screwup she had to tolerate."
"Take it back." I'm right in front of him now. Looking up at his face. "Take back what you said about her."
"No."
"Take it back."
He pushes me.
Fast. Hard. Two hands against my shoulders.
I stumble backward. Off balance. My foot catches on the leg of a chair. I'm falling.
The edge of the dining table rushes toward me.
Pain explodes across my forehead. Sharp. Blinding. My vision whites out.
