Chapter 8 - The Price of Enabling
I stared at him, feeling a cold knot twist in my stomach. "Your house? Dad, you’ve lived in that house for thirty years. How could you possibly have to sell it?"
Dad looked down at his trembling hands, unable to meet my eyes.
"When Laya’s apartment lease was terminated, she and Evan moved back in with us," Dad explained, his voice thick with shame. "We thought it would be temporary—just a couple of weeks until they got back on their feet. But they didn't look for jobs. Evan spent all day playing video games in the basement, and Laya expected us to feed them, pay their storage unit fees, and cover the insurance on their car."
"And you let them?"
"Your mother couldn't say no," Dad whispered. "And every time I tried to put my foot down, Laya threw a hysterical fit, screaming that we ruined her wedding and now we were trying to ruin her life. Last week, we missed our property tax payment because we had to cover three thousand dollars in credit card debt Laya racked up under our name."
I closed my eyes, feeling a profound wave of exhaustion wash over me. The cycle hadn't broken; it had simply relocated.
"And why are you here, Dad?" I asked quietly. "Did you come to ask me for money to save the house?"
May you like
Dad looked up, tears shining in his tired eyes.
"No," he said, his voice breaking. "I came to ask you how to stop. Because I’m seventy-two years old, I’ve lost my home, I’ve lost my peace, and I realize—too late—that I helped create the monster that destroyed my family."
