“It is my room,” I corrected him. I turned to Robert. “Robert?”

He cleared his throat, a deer in the headlights of his daughter’s manipulation. “Maddie, maybe you shouldn’t have moved Laura’s things without asking…”

“Dad, we are in crisis!” Madison snapped, her voice trembling with weaponized vulnerability.

I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry. I reached into the pocket of my cardigan, pulled out a crisp white sheet of paper, and set it next to her cold eggs.

“What’s that?” Madison asked, eyes narrowing.

“My list,” I said.