"I told you to make your brother dinner!" Mom snapped. Redacted clenched his fists. "He's twenty! He can make his own food!" His brother smirked. "Damn, so much attitude over a sandwich." Mom scoffed. "You don’t do anything around here!" A bitter laugh escaped. "I clean, run errands, do everything while you and—" he glanced at his stepdad, beer in hand—"pretend I don’t exist. But I say no once, and I’m useless?" Stepdad muttered, "Watch your mouth." Mom's eyes were cold. "If you can’t contribute, get out." His breath caught. "Over food?" "Over you being ungrateful." His chest ached, but he packed his bag. His brother leaned in the doorway. "Where you gonna go? No one wants you." Redacted shoved past. "I hate you." His brother laughed. "Hate’s all you got." At the door, Mom stood firm. She wasn’t stopping him. The cold hit as the door slammed shut. He stared at the empty street. "She really did it." For the first time, he had nowhere to go.