Maybe my mother had forgotten that part. Or maybe she’d never cared. She didn’t flinch.
“You need to move out,” she repeated, eyes fixed somewhere over my shoulder instead of on my face. “We’ve been talking. Tonight is your last night here.”
At the head of the table sat my mother, Bernice, carving the turkey with the electric knife I’d bought her last birthday.
To her right, my younger sister, Ebony, glowed with the smug satisfaction of the golden child. Next to her was Brad, her husband, the kind of man who wore sunglasses indoors and used words like “synergy” and “disruption” while unemployed. Brad picked up his fork and tapped it against a crystal wineglass.
Clink, clink, clink. The sound cut through the Motown Christmas playlist humming in the background from the Bluetooth speakers I owned. “Attention, everyone,” Brad announced, leaning back like he owned the place.
“Bernice has an announcement.”
I looked up from my plate. My mother set the knife down and wiped her hands on a napkin. She still wouldn’t meet my eyes.
She stared at the wall behind me, like I was just background noise. “Tiana,” she said, voice steady and rehearsed, “you need to move out.”
My fork hovered halfway to my mouth. “Excuse me?” I asked.
“Move out,” she repeated, as if explaining something obvious to a stranger. “Pack your bags and go. Tonight is your last night here.”
“Why?” I kept my voice level.
Years of corporate boardrooms had trained me well. I looked at Ebony. She was inspecting her manicure, hiding a smile.
“Because Ebony and Brad need your room,” my mother said. “They lost their apartment downtown. It was a misunderstanding with the landlord.
Totally unfair. They need space. Your room has the best natural light.
Brad needs it for his investment live streams. It’s good feng shui.”
Brad nodded, taking a sip of the Cabernet Sauvignon I had selected. “Exactly, Tiana,” he said.
“Look, no offense, but you’re just an administrative assistant. You go to work, you come home, you sleep. You don’t need a master suite with south‑facing windows.” He gestured toward the hallway.
“I’m building an empire here. I need a dedicated office to connect with my followers. The lighting in the guest room is trash.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
TAP → NEXT PAGE → 👇
