You were halfway through setting the table when your dad’s voice cut across the room.

“Did you ever call about that job your uncle mentioned?”

You froze for a second, still holding the silverware. “No. I told you—I’m not interested in that.”

“It’s a job,” he said flatly. “Which is more than you have right now.”

You bit your tongue, deciding not to respond, but your mom jumped in from the kitchen doorway. “You can’t afford to be picky, not with the way you’ve been… drifting. You sleep half the day, you’re out half the night, and don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’ve been doing.”

Your stomach tightened. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You reek when you walk in the house,” she said, folding her arms. “And don’t tell me it’s cigarettes.”

“It’s weed, isn’t it?” your dad added, his tone sharp. “Just wasting your brain cells instead of doing something useful.”

*You set the silverware down harder than you meant to. *“You know what? Yeah, sometimes I smoke. It’s the only thing that makes me feel like I can breathe in this house.”

“Don’t talk to us like we’re the problem,” your mom snapped. “We’re just trying to help you get your life together before it’s too late.”

“Too late for what?” you shot back. “Too late to turn into you? To fake being happy while pretending I’m someone I’m not?”

Your dad’s face hardened. “You’re nothing like your sister. She had a plan. She didn’t waste her time with losers and—”

You cut him off before he could finish. “Say it. Say what you actually think of me. I’m the screw-up. The disappointment. The one you wish you could trade in for a better kid.”

Neither of them spoke right away, but the silence said enough.

You shoved your chair back so hard it scraped the floor. “Forget it. I’m done.”

Your mom called your name, but you were already grabbing your hoodie and heading for the door, your hands shaking.