My father’s eyes narrowed.
“You said you were helping.”
“I was.”
“So now you’re going to cancel everything because we had an argument?”
I stared at him.
“You slapped me.”
He looked away first.
I took out my phone and opened my travel confirmations.
I didn’t need to wave them in anyone’s face.
I knew what I had purchased.
I adjusted the arrangements so that only my own travel remained where possible.
The room I needed stayed mine.
The transportation I needed stayed mine.
Anything I had booked for the others was no longer something I intended to finance.
My mother watched me in disbelief.
“You’re actually going to Paris alone?”
“Yes.”
“You would leave your own family standing in an airport?”
I almost answered immediately.
Then I looked around.
My father stood there after striking me because I protected something that belonged to me.
My mother had watched it happen and blamed me.
My sister had smiled and said I deserved it.
They were my family, but they had already decided I could be humiliated as long as their vacation continued.
“I’m not leaving you anywhere,” I said.
“You came to an airport without paying for your own trip.
That was your choice.”
Danielle’s eyes filled with angry tears.
“You hate me.”
“No.”
“You’ve always hated that Mom and Dad are proud of me.”
“I helped pay for the degree they’re celebrating.”
She flinched.
I didn’t say it to embarrass her.
I said it because I was finished participating in a version of our family where my contributions disappeared the second they became inconvenient to acknowledge.
My mother stepped between us.
“We are not doing this here.”
“We already did.”
She stared at me.
For once, she had nothing to say.
The agent handed my passport and boarding pass back to me.
“Your ticket remains confirmed, Ms.
Castillo.”
I thanked her.
My father gave a bitter laugh.
“So that’s it? You buy a few things and suddenly you think you’re better than us?”
There it was again.
The accusation that had followed every success I ever had.
If I earned more, I was arrogant.
If I helped, it was expected.
If I mentioned helping, I was keeping score.
If I refused, I was selfish.
There was no version of the arrangement in which I was allowed to have boundaries and still be considered loving.
“I don’t think I’m better than you,” I said.
“I think I’m done paying to be treated worse than you.”
My father looked as if he wanted to answer, but the words didn’t come.
