We need to talk, Evan,” my mother began. My father stepped forward. “We’ve been talking, and we think it’s time you contribute more,” he said, his voice heavy with false reason. “You make good money. It’s not fair that we’re struggling while you’re out living on your own.”

I just stared at them. “I already am contributing.” “A few bills?” my mother scoffed. “That’s nothing.” “I’ve been covering the mortgage for the past two years,” I said, my voice dangerously low. Zach, without looking up from his phone, had the audacity to roll his eyes. “Come on, man. It’s just money.”