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“Stay there. Don’t go anywhere,” I told her. “Take a picture of the note and send it to me right now.”

My hands were already shaking before the photo even arrived. The message was written in my mother’s rigid block handwriting on one of her floral recipe cards.

Pack your things and move out. We need the space for your cousin. You’re not welcome here.

For several seconds my brain refused to process what I was reading.

Emma was fourteen. I had left her with my parents for just three nights while I attended a legal compliance conference out of state. Despite the tension that had existed between us for years, I still believed they would never hurt her.

I was wrong.

I immediately called my mother. She answered on the fourth ring, sounding annoyed.
“I’m busy, Claire.”

“Did you throw my daughter out of the house?”

There was a short pause.

“Don’t exaggerate,” she replied. “Tyler needed the room.”

“My daughter is fourteen.”

“She’s old enough to stay with a friend for a night,” my mother snapped. “Your sister is in crisis and Tyler has nowhere else to go. Family helps family.”

“Emma is family.”

Silence followed.