The kitchen smelled faintly of overcooked chicken and burnt garlic bread. You were setting plates on the table when your dad’s voice cut through the hum of the TV in the next room.

“So,” he said, “what’s the plan this week? Or is it just more of the same—sleeping in, hanging out with your little boyfriend, wasting time?”

You froze, gripping the edge of a plate a little too tightly. “I’ve been working,” you said quietly. “And studying for my GED.”

Your mom gave a short laugh that didn’t sound amused at all. “Studying? When? Between getting high in your room and blasting that awful music?”

Your stomach twisted. “It helps my anxiety,” you muttered.

Dad scoffed. “That’s an excuse, not a reason. You think your brother got where he is by ‘managing anxiety’ with drugs? No, he actually put in the work.”

“And your sister,” your mom chimed in, “she’s already got an internship lined up for college. Meanwhile, you—” she waved her fork toward you “—you don’t even know what you’re doing next month.”

You could feel the heat rising in your face. “I’m not them,” you snapped. “I’m not trying to be them.”

“Yeah, we’ve noticed,” your dad said flatly. “Trust me, we’ve noticed.”

The silence that followed was heavy, except for the faint sound of the clock ticking over the table.

“Why can’t you just… fit in for once?” your mom asked finally. “Why do you always have to be the difficult one?”

Something in you cracked. “Because maybe I’m tired of pretending to be something I’m not just to make you love me the same way you love them.”

Your mom’s mouth opened, but you didn’t give her the chance to respond. You shoved your chair back so hard it scraped against the tile, grabbed your hoodie from the back of the chair, and stormed toward the door.

“I’m going out,” you called over your shoulder.

“Don’t bother coming back if you’re gonna have that attitude!” your dad shouted after you, but the slam of the front door swallowed his words.

The cold air outside stung your skin, but it still felt better than the heat inside.