My parents sold their house and gave my sister a h…

The next morning, I found Mom in the kitchen again, now organizing my pantry. “This place could use some order,” she said, tossing out my half-empty cereal box. I bit my tongue, trying not to snap.

Dad was sprawled on the couch, coffee mug in hand, flipping channels. “You got a nice setup here, Miranda,” he said, like he was sizing up my apartment. I forced a smile.

“Thanks, Dad. So, what’s your plan? You looking for a new place?”

He shrugged.

“We’ll stay until things settle. No rush.”

No rush. My apartment isn’t a hotel.

I pressed again. “What about your savings? Any leads on jobs?”

Mom cut in from the kitchen.

“Stop interrogating us, Miranda. We’re your parents.”

Her voice had an edge, like I’d crossed a line. I headed to work, my head spinning.