PART 2: THE ANATOMY OF A PARASITE
PART 2: THE ANATOMY OF A PARASITE
The relentless buzzing of the phone against the wooden table sounded like a chainsaw tearing through the silent kitchen. Fifty-three missed calls wasn't just a reaction; it was a panic state. For fifteen years, Eleanor had been the financial backbone of the family, the dependable eldest daughter who swallowed her own ambitions so her siblings could live beyond their means.
"Don't answer it," Thomas said softly, placing a large, comforting hand on Eleanor’s shoulder. "Let them cook in it."
"I have no intention of answering," Eleanor replied, her voice cold and hollowed out of any remaining empathy. She looked down at Mia, who was watching them from the kitchen doorway, her small shoulders hunched, still rubbing her sore right wrist from Mrs. Novak’s heavy industrial scrub brushes. "Mia, go wash your hands and put some lotion on them. You are safe. No one is taking your money."
Once Mia retreated down the hall, Eleanor opened the text threads that were rapidly filling her storage. “Eleanor, how dare you!” her mother, Helen, had texted. “Your father’s mortgage payment bounced! The bank just called us! What are you doing? This is about Sophie's birthday, isn't it? You are punishing us over a simple lesson in family values!”
Then came Heather’s message, dripping with toxic privilege: “You completely ruined Sophie’s morning! She was counting on that horse camp money! Everyone else contributed! Why do you always have to make everything about you and your bitter attitude?”
Eleanor felt a dark, liberating laugh escape her lips. She looked at the bills piled on her table. While she and Thomas were driving pre-owned cars and calculating grocery coupons, her sister Heather was planning a $900 horse camp for a twelve-year-old, funded entirely by a child's piggy bank and Eleanor's stolen commissions.
"They genuinely think they are the victims here," Thomas murmured, reading the notifications over her shoulder. "They've used your guilt as a bank account for so long they don't even recognize the fraud anymore."
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"My father taught me that a contract is only good if both parties are honest," Eleanor said, standing up from the table. "They broke the contract the moment they put their hands in my daughter's pockets. I'm going to see them, Thomas."
"I'll get the keys," Thomas said without hesitation. "Let's go show them what 'not family' really means."
