But nothing could prepare me for the sight before me. I stopped dead in my tracks, my heart racing as I took in the scene. Black garbage bags piled at the front gate. They were so ordinary, yet the sight of them sent a chill down my spine. Inside those bags were the remnants of my life, each one a piece of a carefully constructed world I’d built for myself over the past four years.
My father stood there, arms crossed, his face an unreadable mask. He was always the stoic one, the rock of our family — or at least, that’s how I’d always seen him. My mother wouldn’t meet my gaze. Instead, she stared resolutely at the ground, her silence a wall between us. And there was my sister Samantha, holding up her phone, her expression one of smug satisfaction as she livestreamed the scene to her followers.
“Look at this freeloader, everyone! She thinks she can just walk back in after all that time!”