“Start packing your bags already, Clara,” my stepbrother Leo smirked, his voice dripping with casual amusement as he leaned against the worn doorframe of our kitchen in Seattle.

He didn’t care that the scent of my mother’s funeral flowers still lingered in the living room.

He didn’t care that I had spent the last 3 years washing his dad’s laundry, scrubbing the floors, and monitoring my mother’s oxygen machine until my fingers bled.

Leo just smiled, tossing a stapled document onto the kitchen table.

“What is this?” I asked. My voice sounded thin, like dry leaves.

“It is your eviction notice,” Leo said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold lighter, flicking it open and shut.

“Your mom left the house to my dad,” he added. “And my dad wants you out by tonight. You have 4 hours.”

I looked at my stepdad, Richard. He was standing near the refrigerator, staring at a small tear in the wallpaper.

Richard didn’t look at me. He had married my mother 8 years ago, promising to protect us.

“Richard, please,” I whispered. “This house belonged to my father. He bought it for mom before he passed away.”

“Well, your mom signed a new will 6 months ago,” Richard said. His voice was calm, almost polite. He order coffee with the same tone.

“She wanted to make sure I was taken care of,” Richard added. “We think it is best for everyone if you move on. You’re an adult, Clara.”

“But I spent all my savings on her medicine,” I said. My chest felt cold. “I have nowhere to go.”

“That is not our problem,” Leo laughed. “Face it, Clara. She never loved you or saw you as real family. She left you nothing.”

I didn’t argue. I didn’t scream.

Something behind my ribs folded in on itself. My legs felt heavy, like lead.

I stood up from the table. I walked to the kitchen counter.

Sitting next to the kettle was a chipped ceramic sugar bowl. It was painted with small, faded blue flowers.