Tell them to leave before I come down there and finish what I started last night!”
“You won’t finish anything, Ryan,” I said, my voice as calm as a frozen lake. “And it’s not your house.
It never was. I bought it. I owned it. And at 9:45 today, I sold it.”
“You can’t do that! I live here! I’m your son!”
“A son doesn’t beat his father thirty times while his wife smiles,” I replied.
“Yesterday, you told me you were sick of acting like you owed me something.
You told me the house had nothing to do with me. So, I took your advice.
It has nothing to do with you anymore, either.”
“Dad, please! Vanessa is packing her bags in trash bags! We have nowhere to go!
All my money is tied up in my car leases and clothes!”
Ryan was begging now, the arrogance completely draining from his voice.
