Chapter 1: The Key to Freedom

The key turned in the lock for the first time. And I swear I felt something shift in my chest. Ten years. Ten years of ramen dinners, secondhand furniture, and saying no to every invitation that cost more than $20. But here I was, standing in the doorway of my own home.

My name is Sandra, and at 33, I’d finally done it. The mortgage papers were signed. The deed had my name on it. And nobody could take this away from me.

The house wasn’t much. A modest two-bedroom in a decent neighborhood, but it was mine. Well, don’t just stand there gawking, my mother’s voice cut through my moment. We’re getting cold out here.

I stepped aside to let them in. Mom, my brother Forest, and his fiancée Jayla filed past me into the living room. I’d invited them for dinner to celebrate, thinking maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time they’d actually be proud of me.

“It’s smaller than I expected,” Jayla said, running her finger along the mantelpiece like she was checking for dust. “But I guess it’s cozy.”

“It’s perfect for Sandra,” Forest added, that patronizing tone he’d perfected since childhood.

“Not everyone needs a big place, right?” I forced a smile. “The kitchen’s through here. I made your favorite, Mom.”

“That’s a shame you bought this house,” Mom interrupted, settling into my new armchair like she owned it. “We really needed that money for Forest’s wedding.”

The words hit me like a slap. I stood there, mitt still on my hands, staring at her.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you know how expensive weddings are these days,” she continued, not even looking at me. “And Forest’s been counting on family support. I just think it’s selfish to spend all that money on yourself when your brother needs help.”

Forest shifted uncomfortably.

“Mom, we didn’t ask.”

“You shouldn’t have to ask,” she snapped. “Family helps family. That’s what we do.”

I set the casserole down harder than necessary, the dish clinking on the countertop.

“I worked for ten years to save for this house,” I said, my voice tightening. “Ten years, Mom.”

“And now you have it,” she said with a shrug. “But Forest only gets married once. This house will always be here.”

Jayla perked up. “Actually, we’ve been looking at venues, and there’s this gorgeous place in the mountains that would be absolutely perfect. It’s a little over budget, but—”

“How much over budget?” I asked, though I already knew I’d regret it.

“Only about $15,000,” she said, like it was pocket change.

“Which is nothing compared to what you probably spent on this place.”

I looked at Forest, waiting for him to say something. Anything.

He was studying his phone like it held the secrets of the universe.

“Forest?”

He finally looked up. “I mean, if you wanted to help out, that would be amazing. But no pressure.”

“No pressure,” I repeated, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Right. I just closed on this house three days ago. I have exactly $400 in my checking account and a mortgage payment due in three weeks.”

“Well, you could always take out a home equity loan,” Mom suggested. “That’s what houses are for—building wealth for the family.”

I stared at her. This woman who’d raised me, who’d supposedly loved me, was sitting in my living room suggesting I mortgage my future for my brother’s party.

“Dinner’s ready,” I said quietly.

We ate in tense silence. Jayla kept taking pictures of her food, probably for Instagram. Forest scrolled through his phone between bites. Mom criticized everything from the seasoning to the way I’d arranged the napkins.

“This is really good, Sandra,” Forest said suddenly, like he just remembered he was supposed to be nice to me.

“Thanks. You know, once we’re married, you should come over for dinner more often. Jayla’s an amazing cook.”

Jayla beamed. “I make this incredible salmon dish that’s to die for.”

“Of course, we’ll need to get a bigger dining set first. The one we have now only seats four.”

“That sounds lovely,” I said, cutting my chicken with more force than necessary.

After they left, I stood in my kitchen washing dishes and trying to process what had just happened. My mother had looked at my greatest achievement and seen only what it could do for her golden boy. My brother had nodded along like it was perfectly reasonable, and his fiancée had spent the entire evening cataloging everything she thought was wrong with my home.

I dried the last plate and put it away in my cabinet. My cabinet. In my kitchen. In my house.