My parents handed me one hundred dollars and a garbage bag for my clothes.
That was my goodbye.
There was no hug.
No apology.
No offer to drive me to the bus station.
My mother stood in the doorway with her arms crossed while my father looked at me without a trace of emotion.
“You wanted to be independent, Emma,” he said. “Go be independent.”
I was twenty-two years old.
And I was standing outside the only home I had ever known with a backpack over one shoulder, a garbage bag filled with clothes in my hand, and a folded hundred-dollar bill pressed into my palm.
I remember staring at that money and thinking that it wasn’t enough to buy a week of groceries.
It wasn’t enough to pay a month’s rent.
It wasn’t even enough to make me feel like my parents were helping me.
It felt like payment for getting rid of me.
The reason they had thrown me out was simple.
I had refused to give my college refund check to my sister, Madison.
The check was for $3,800.
It wasn’t spending money.
It was supposed to cover my final semester, my books, and the certification exam I needed to finish school and finally build a life outside that house.
Madison wanted the money because she had quit yet another job and claimed she needed a fresh start.
