“I’m sorry,” I said.

Relief flooded her voice.

“Oh thank God, I knew you’d understand—”

“I’m not selling my apartment.”

Everything went quiet.

“You’re… what?”

“I worked for that place. I sacrificed years for it.”

“But we’re going to lose the house!”

“That’s not my responsibility.”

Her voice turned cold.

“So you’re abandoning your own family.”

“No,” I said calmly.

“I’m finally stopping you from using me.”

She hung up.

For the rest of the day, I tried to focus on work.

But something kept bothering me.

The panic in her voice had been real.

And I had a feeling…

That call was only the beginning.

Three days passed before I heard from them again.

This time, it wasn’t my mother.

It was my stepfather, Richard.

I almost ignored it.

But curiosity made me answer.

“Hello?”

“Michael,” he said, his voice unusually steady.

“We need to talk.”

“That depends,” I replied. “Is this another attempt to get my apartment?”

“No.”

That surprised me.

“It’s worse than that.”

My stomach tightened.

“What do you mean?”

Richard let out a long breath.

“The bank didn’t just come for the house.”

“What?”

“They’re investigating my finances.”

A knot formed in my chest.