“You were paying almost everything.”
I said nothing.
There wasn’t anything left to say.
The numbers had already spoken.
Ethan rubbed his face hard.
“I thought Dad paid the mortgage.”
“No,” I answered softly.
His breathing actually faltered.
That was the moment.
The exact moment the illusion cracked completely.
And once illusions break, they never fit back together the same way again.
“I feel sick,” he admitted.
“You should,” I said gently. “But not because of me.”
Tears slid down his face before he could stop them.
“I didn’t see it.”
“I know.”
And I did know.
Children raised inside dysfunction rarely see it while they’re surviving it.
They normalize whatever keeps the household emotionally stable.
Even if that stability is built on someone else being sacrificed.
Especially then.
He looked around my apartment slowly after that.
The mismatched furniture.
The tiny kitchen.
The peace.
“You seem happier here,” he said quietly.
I looked around too.
Then I realized something shocking.
I was.
