PART4

The little girl I had carried home on my back when she scraped her knee.

The little girl who used to tell everyone that her big brother could fix anything.

For one second, I almost gave in.

Then I remembered her standing over me in the rain.

We aren’t your servants.

I closed my eyes.

“I’ll pay for a hotel for three nights.”

Her eyes widened.

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll pay for three nights. That’s enough time for you to make arrangements.”

“You’re kicking us out tonight?”

“Yes.”

“It’s raining!”

“I know.”

“Stephen, you can’t do this!”

“I can.”

She looked at Marcus.

“Tell him he’s being unreasonable.”

Marcus shook his head.

“No.”

She stared at him.

“You’re his friend.”

“Exactly.”

He crouched beside me.

“And if my friend tells me his family refused to help him when he was injured, I’m not going to tell him to keep suffering just because they’re related.”

Dario scoffed.

“Stay out of family business.”

Marcus stood.

“You made it my business when I had to carry him out of the rain.”

Nobody spoke.

The ambulance arrived moments later.

Two paramedics entered with a stretcher.

One of them asked what happened.

“I slipped on the porch,” I said.

He examined my ankle.

“Possible fracture. We’re taking you in for X-rays.”

Melissa immediately stepped forward.

“I’ll come with him.”

I looked at her.

“No.”

She froze.

“I’m your sister.”

“And tonight I need a paramedic more than I need a sister.”

Her face fell.

The paramedics helped me onto the stretcher.

As they carried me toward the door, I heard Nico whisper something.

“Mom…”

Melissa turned.

“What?”

“Where are we going?”

She didn’t answer.

For the first time, I saw fear on her face.

Not fear for me.

Fear about what would happen to her.

And somehow, that made my decision easier.

At the hospital, the X-ray confirmed the fracture.

The doctor told me I’d need a cast and several weeks of limited movement.

I stared at the ceiling.

Several weeks.

Normally, that news would have terrified me.

But another thought was already taking shape.

My house would be empty when I returned.

For the first time in months, I would walk through my front door and not wonder who had eaten the groceries.

Not wonder whether the electricity bill had doubled again.

Not wonder whether someone had scratched the floors.

Not wonder if I was allowed to sit on my own couch.

I would be alone.

And strangely, the thought felt peaceful.

Marcus stayed with me until nearly midnight.

He brought me coffee and a charger.

Before leaving, he said, “You did the right thing.”

I stared at him.

“I don’t know.”

He smiled.

“You will.”

When I got home the next afternoon, the house was silent.

Too silent.

Melissa, Dario, and Nico had left.

There was a note on the kitchen table.

I picked it up.

Stephen,

I hope you’re happy.

You got what you wanted.

Family shouldn’t treat each other this way.

Melissa.

I read it twice.

Then I turned it over.

Nothing else.

No apology.

No concern about my injury.

No “How are you feeling?”

Just blame.

I folded the note and put it in the trash.

Then I noticed something.

The house wasn’t just messy.

It had been damaged.

There were scratches on the guest-room door.

A broken cabinet hinge.

Food stains on the carpet.

A crack in one of the dining chairs.

And then I saw my bedroom door.

The lock was damaged.

I stood there staring at it.

I had never locked my bedroom door while they lived with me.

I had trusted them.

I opened it.

My stomach dropped.

My desk drawers were open.

Documents were scattered across the floor.

My financial files had been disturbed.

I limped closer.

The folder containing my mortgage documents was missing.

So was the folder where I kept copies of my property insurance, bank statements, and tax records.

I froze.

They hadn’t just treated my house like a hotel.

Someone had been going through my private documents.

I called Marcus.

“Come over.”

He arrived fifteen minutes later.

I showed him the room.

His expression hardened.

“Did you give them permission to go through this?”

“No.”

“Then you need to take this seriously.”

I nodded.

We searched the house.

Nothing else seemed missing.

Except the documents.

Then Marcus noticed something on the floor beside my desk.

A small receipt.

He picked it up.

It was from a local copy shop.

The date was two weeks earlier.

There was a list of items printed on the receipt.

Mortgage statement.

Property tax record.

Insurance policy.

Bank statement.

I stared at the receipt.

“Why would they copy these?”

Marcus didn’t answer.

I felt a coldness spread through me.

Then my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I answered.

“Hello?”

A man’s voice said:

“Mr. Stephen Carter?”

“Yes.”

“This is Daniel from the bank’s fraud prevention department.”

My heart stopped.

“Fraud?”

“Yes. We noticed an unusual inquiry concerning one of your accounts.”

I sat down slowly.

“What kind of inquiry?”

“There was an attempt to verify your identity for a financial application.”

My throat went dry.

“What application?”

There was a pause.

“An application for a personal loan.”

I stared at Marcus.

“How much?”

“Forty-five thousand dollars.”

The room seemed to tilt.

“Was it approved?”

“No. We blocked it because the verification failed.”

I exhaled.

“But I recommend that you come into the branch immediately.”

After the call ended, I couldn’t speak.

Marcus looked at me.

“Stephen.”

I shook my head.

“I never applied for a loan.”

“I know.”

“No.”

I looked toward the empty hallway.

“I mean, I know who did.”

For eight months, I had allowed three people into my home.

I had given them keys.

Access.

Trust.

And now someone had tried to borrow $45,000 using my identity.

My sister had been in my house.

Her husband had been in my house.

They had gone through my documents.

I picked up my phone.

This time, I didn’t call Melissa.

I called the police.

And before the night was over, I would discover that the $45,000 loan application wasn’t the only thing they had tried to take from me.