My heart pounded as I pressed the call button, adrenaline and determination surging through me. “Alex, I need a favor. Can you pick me up? I have an interview, and I can’t drive,” I said.
“Be there in ten,” Alex replied, always reliable.
I faced my dad, who tried to block me. “I’m leaving,” I said firmly. He sneered, but stepped aside. The door clicked shut behind me, and for the first time in years, I felt free.
When Alex arrived, I slipped into the car, a mix of guilt and exhilaration washing over me. “Thanks for coming,” I said.
The house faded in the rearview mirror, along with the weight of expectations I’d carried for so long. This interview wasn’t just a job—it was the start of a life defined on my own terms.
For the first time, I felt excitement for the future, knowing that standing up for myself might force my family to see me differently—and perhaps finally realize I wasn’t disposable.
