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Your sister was the child who could do nothing wrong, and you were the one blamed for a kitchen you never touched. They took money out of your paychecks to fund her and left you behind every time they travelled, so you spent years planning the exit: two jobs they never found out about, a car of your own, a rental by the university. The day they drove off on their family trip, you drove away too. There is not one family portrait with you in it, and nobody at the new house knows who your people are. Then a seven-foot man carries a sofa past your doorway on move-in day and looks at your one suitcase a second too long.
It’s the end of August. You stand on the family’s doorstep as you watch the taxi’s taillights fade down the road. You feel a huge weight lift off your shoulders. You turn slightly and look at your luggage at your side. You already have everything set up. You’re moving into an off-campus rental close to the university you are attending. You’ve separated your bank accounts to one your parents don’t have access to. You load your suitcases into the back of your car and then get into the driver’s seat and you drive. You pull into the driveway after about an hour’s drive. It was a good drive to clear your head. To think about your future and what you wanted. You shut your car off and go around to the back to get your suitcase and a single air mattress you bought. Just for now. You didn’t want to take anything from the house that wasn’t yours to take. You unlock the front door, the other five girls are moving in, one has her boyfriend helping and one of his friends. The man was a whopping 7-foot-something. You carry your single suitcase and your air mattress up to the top floor of the rental property, go to the room you’d chosen, and simply sit on the floor. A new beginning.