The Truth Comes Out
Amanda slammed her palm on her wineglass, the crystal ringing sharply. “Stop embarrassing yourself,” she sneered. “You can barely pay your rent, and you’re pretending to be important?”
Her words cut deep, just like all the others before. I had lived quietly for years — easier than explaining the long hours, the solitude, and the sacrifices that funded their lives. They saw me as lazy, a dreamer, never realizing they had lived on my support.
I leaned forward and said softly, “Before you throw me out, Amanda, you might want to read the purchase contract for this house.”
The arrogance drained from her eyes. My mother dropped her fork, and my father leaned in with sudden curiosity. Ryan sprang up and shouted desperately, “She’s lying! Erica’s always been jealous of you, Amanda!”
The room went silent, heavy as a courtroom. I reached into my pocket and unfolded a document — the mortgage deed, signed by me, complete with dates and the lender’s name. I had paid the down payment that secured the house while they chased illusions and appearances.
My father grabbed the papers as if they were hot. “It says ‘Erica’ right here,” he murmured, confused. Chaos erupted — accusations, denials, rage. Amanda screamed that the document was fake, while Ryan stood sweating, his guilt shining through his silence.
“Show us your receipts!” Amanda demanded mockingly.
Instead of arguing, I placed another envelope on the table — invoices, signatures, proof of payment, and the official transfer record. Every arrogant word they’d ever thrown at me fell flat. I had acted quietly and patiently while they lived in fantasy.
