My phone started ringing before dawn.
Mom. Dad. Mom again. Then my brother.
I ignored every single call.
An hour later, Aunt Diane called instead.
“Honey,” she said gently, “your parents are here.”
I pulled my car over onto the roadside. “They drove all the way there?”
“They figured you’d come to me.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “For once… they guessed wrong.”
Diane sighed. “They’re asking me for your address.”
“Please don’t tell them.”
“I won’t.” A long silence followed. Then she said something that made my chest tighten. “Your mother is crying.”
I wanted to feel satisfied. Instead, I just felt exhausted.
That afternoon, my brother texted. Mom hasn’t stopped blaming herself.
I looked at it and didn’t reply.
A second text came through. Dad keeps saying he has no idea why you left.
That one actually stung. He genuinely didn’t understand.
Several weeks went by. I settled into my new apartment, started my job, and slowly built a life where no one measured me against someone else.
Then Aunt Diane called again.
“They found something.”
“What?”
“Boxes.”
