Part 3:
My apartment is quiet. My phone doesn’t run my life. My money stays where I choose to put it.
Sometimes I still drive past my parents’ house. It looks the same from the outside. Come winter, there’ll be candles in the windows and a perfect table set inside.
I won’t be there.
Not because I was thrown out.
Not because I’m punishing them.
But because I finally understand the difference between being loved and being used as infrastructure.
They called it carrying me.
I called it keeping the lights on.
Now their lights are their own responsibility.
Mine are still on.
They always were.
I was just too busy powering everyone else’s life to notice my own.
Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. All images are for illustration purposes only.
