But that joy didn’t last. The warmth of the first few months slowly chilled. Evelyn began imposing silent rules, like invisible threads tightening around me. It started with small things. “Mom, if people come over, go rest in your room for a bit. The living room needs to look tidy.” Soon, I felt I no longer belonged in the main part of the house. Then came the move to the small, windowless storage room next to the kitchen. “I think you’ll be more comfortable in here,” she’d said with a cold smile. Lying on the old bed, listening to the dripping kitchen faucet, I felt like I was being kicked out of my own family.