“That money keeps this house running now. And honestly? No one needs to see you in something like that.”
“So there’s money for that?” I asked.
Her eyes narrowed. “Watch your tone.”
“You’re using our money.”
She stood up so quickly her chair scraped the floor. “I’m the one keeping this family afloat. You have no idea how expensive life is.”
“Then why did Dad say the money was ours?”
Her voice went cold. “Because your father was terrible with money and even worse with boundaries.”
I went upstairs and cried into my pillow like I was 12 again.
Outside my door I heard Ethan pacing quietly, too nervous to knock.
Two nights later he walked into my room holding a stack of old denim.
Mom’s jeans.
He placed them on my bed and said, “Do you trust me?”
