The second I walked out of the SAT testing center, my mom dropped three new house rules in our family group chat.
“1. You’re paying for your own college tuition and living expenses.”
“2. Starting today, you pay rent and utilities if you’re living here.”
“3. You owe me $150 a month for household expenses.”
Before I could even respond, a delivery guy showed up with my suitcase.
Mom called to inform me: “You’re 18 now. I’m done being responsible for you.”
“Do yourself a favor and go get a job.”
She hung up, then blocked my number.
A year later, Dad tracked me down and his first words were: “Delia, did your mom give you the property deed?”
I thought of the document folder hidden in the bottom compartment of my suitcase and put on my most innocent face.
“Mom and I cut ties ages ago. I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
The moment I finished my SATS, Mom couldn’t wait to blast those three house rules in our family group chat.
“1. You’re paying for your own college tuition and living expenses.”
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“2. Starting today, you pay rent and utilities if you’re living here.”
“3. You owe me $1500 a month for household expenses.”
Every single rule was designed to push me out the door–basically forcing me to leave home.
Standing outside the bustling school gates, I felt ice–cold all over.
My life–changing SATS had literally just ended, and Mom was already chomping at the bit to kick me out.
The second those rules dropped, my cousins–who’d been excitedly planning post–graduation trips just minutes before–went dead silent.
With shaking fingers, I typed: “Mom, you’re kidding, right?”
Mom immediately posted a statement: “This house doesn’t support deadweight.”
“If Delia won’t follow the rules, she can get out and fend for herself.”
“Legally, I only had to support you until 18. You’re an adult now–I don’t owe you anything.”
Mom’s always been this way–stubborn as hell, with a personality that rubs everyone the wrong way.
Out of all my grandparents‘ kids, she was the least favorite. Took a lot of hits growing up because of it.
Even as an adult, she never learned how to handle close relationships properly.
Our house has always been a pressure cooker, with everyone ready to explode at the slightest provocation.
I inherited her temperament, and we clash constantly.
She’s said it a million times–she’d only take care of me until I turned 18, then I wouldn’t see
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another dime from her.
I never took her seriously. Hell, I thought she was just blowing smoke.
Turns out she meant every word.
The group chat erupted, with relatives jumping in to talk sense into Mom.
And there I was, clutching my phone in the middle of a busy plaza, with nowhere to go.
That’s when a delivery guy jogged over.
He handed me a suitcase.
“You’re Delia, right? Your mom asked me to deliver this. Just need you to sign for it.”
I took it, completely confused about what Mom was playing at.
The group chat had turned into a battlefield.
After all, everyone in our family has kids facing college admissions. My cousins are all basically their parents‘ pride and joy.
What Mom was doing was like slapping every doting parent in the family across the face.
My mother’s brother, uncle Marcus: “She’s never been away from home–what if someone scams her?”
Uncle Ray: “How can you be so heartless? Aren’t you worried she’ll hate you forever?”
Aunt Cheryl: “Are you really that strapped for cash? She’s your only kid–you’d be happy if her life falls apart?”
My cousins, who’d been silent earlier, finally spoke up.
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“Aunt Linda, Delia just graduated–she needs to socialize too.”
“Yeah, if she’s gonna work, at least wait until she gets to college.”
“She’s just a teenage girl–what if someone takes advantage of her or scams her?”
Everyone was pointing out how absolutely insane it was to make me get a job right now.
My cousin even shared some news articles about summer workers who’d gone missing.
But Mom stood her ground.
“She’s my daughter, and how I raise her is my business–not yours.”
“She’s 18. When I was 18, I’d already been working for years.”
“Hothouse flowers can’t handle real weather. I’m teaching her independence.”
Uncle Marcus lost it when he saw Mom wouldn’t budge.”
“What independence? Can’t it wait one more year?”
Mom went quiet for a long moment, then typed: “Even if it’s just one more year, I want her out now. Preferably for good.”
The relatives stopped talking.
At the end of the day, this wasn’t their family drama to handle.
I stared at the suitcase and DMed Mom.
“Mom, what’s with the suitcase?”
She replied instantly: “Those house rules were just to throw the relatives off. Do yourself a favor and get a job–don’t come back here bothering me.”
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“I already cleared out your room to make it my study.”
“Starting today, we’re cutting ties. Mother and daughter? We’re done.”
Mom had been nagging Dad about wanting a study for ages, but he always said she was being pretentious and overdramatic.
They’d fight about it constantly.
Mom would say the house was part of her dowry, so she should get to decide how to arrange it.
Dad would argue that we needed to keep a guest room for when his family visited.
When their fights got really heated, Dad would point at me and say: “She’ll get married eventually. After she moves out, you can turn her room into your study. But we’re keeping the guest room.”
My room would only be mine until I got married.
Looking at Mom’s messages, I could practically see her gleefully clearing out my space, filling it with all her favorite décor and plants.
She’d been holding back until she hit her breaking point, just waiting for my SATS to end so she could boot me out.
She even wanted to cut ties completely and never see me again.
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