On the table, there was a pen. And next to it, a stack of documents I recognized all too well: the deed to our apartment and a loan application for a staggering amount, already filled out with my personal details.
“Alex, sit down,” my father said, his voice carrying that old authority he used when I was a child. “We’ve been thinking.(s) Since you want us to move out so suddenly, we need a ‘nest egg’ to get settled. It’s the least you can do after the way you spoke to us last night.”
My brother, leaning against the doorframe with a smug grin, added, “It’s a win-win, bro. You get your house back, and we get out of your hair. Just sign, and the ‘servant’ gets her peace.”
The Cold Realization
I looked at the documents, then at my mother, who was casually sipping tea Anna had made. She didn’t look offended anymore; she looked like a predator waiting for its meal.
