After I Finally Bought My First Apartment, My Father Demanded I Sell It and Hand the Cash to My Sister

The transition into our home was surprisingly seamless. Lucas welcomed Chloe with absolute warmth and zero judgment, carrying her single duffel bag into the sunlit guest room. For the first three days, Chloe mostly slept, her body and mind finally crashing after years of living in a constant, terrifying state of hyper-vigilance under Eleanor's roof.

On the fourth evening, after a quiet dinner, I asked Chloe to join me in the living room for a physical therapy session on her wrist.

"It's feeling a lot better," Chloe said, sitting on the plush sofa as I unwrapped the elastic bandage. "The swelling is almost completely gone."

"That's good," I noted, gently pressing my thumbs along the tendons to test her mobility. "But we need to start doing resistance exercises to rebuild the strength, or the joint will remain vulnerable. Tell me if this hurts."

I stretched her wrist backward. Chloe winced slightly but nodded.

"Maya," Chloe started, her voice hesitant. "I wanted to apologize. For not believing you when you left three years ago. Mom told me you were crazy, that you were just ungrateful and selfish. And I believed her, because it was easier than facing the truth."

"I don't blame you, Chloe," I said honestly, maintaining eye contact as I massaged her hand. "Eleanor is a master manipulator. She isolates you, breaks down your reality, and makes you dependent on her approval. I was older. I had a chance to escape to college and see the real world. You were trapped in that house with her."

"She got so much worse after you left," Chloe whispered, staring at the floor. "She lost her primary punching bag, so she turned all of her venom entirely on me. Nothing I did was ever good enough."

"Because her emptiness is a bottomless pit," I explained gently. "You could pour your entire soul into her, and it would never fill her up. Your job isn't to fix her, Chloe. Your job is to protect yourself."