My mother shrank back a step.
“Imogen, that was — you know how stressed your father gets.
We thought you were busy with work—”
“Don’t lie, Mom.” I didn’t raise my voice.
I didn’t need to.
“You didn’t think I was busy.
You posted in your new group chat — the one you made after removing me — that you were glad I decided not to come, so you could have a drama-free vacation.
You wore the shirt I bought.
You ate the food I arranged.
You treated me like a machine that prints money and then disappears back into the wall.”