When are you planning to move out, Marina?
Mum stood in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame. A cup of tea in her hands, her voice indifferent, edged with something close to disdain.
Move out? Marina turned slowly from her laptop, its warmth still on her knees. Mum, I live here. I I work.
Work? Mum raised an eyebrow, a crooked smile flickering. Oh, right. Thissitting on the internet. Writing your little poems? Or articles? Who even reads those?
Marina snapped the laptop shut. Her chest tightened. Shed heard it beforethat her work wasnt realbut each time felt like a slap.
She *was* trying. Freelancing wasnt easyendless edits, deadlines, late-night drafts, clients who wanted everything yesterday and never paid on time.
I have steady clients, she exhaled. And I earn enough. I pay my shareutilities, food
No ones asking anything of you, Mum waved her off. Its just the situation, love. Youre grown, you understand.
Tom and Lisa want to move in. Theyve got *two kids*, Marina. Children. Theyre cramped in that one-bed flat, you know that.
And whatIm not family? The words burst out, her voice trembling.
Youre *single*, Marina. Youre your own person. Theyve got kids, a proper family. Youre smart, independent. Youll find somewhere. Maybe even a *real* job, finally.
People work nine to five, you know. Not hunched over a laptop all night.
Marina stayed silent. A lump rose in her throat. Explaining was pointlessMum had never understood what she did.
Not once had she asked, *What do you write? Where can I read it?*
Only dismissive glances, sighs, remarks like, *Shouldve just been a cashier.*
*Single.* The word rang in her ears like a verdict. A reason to erase her from the flat, from their lives.
When Dad came home, the conversation resumednow with him, Mum, and her, like some makeshift tribunal.
Tom and his wife have done well, Dad began, sinking into his armchair. Both working, two kids.
And you well, youre not lazy. But its time to get serious about life.
Dad, I *live* here. Im not a freeloader! I earn, even if its from home, even if its in pyjamas! I pay for food, utilitiesIm not leeching off you!
Youre missing the point, he cut in. This isnt about money. Its about *need*.
Toms got *two kids*, hear that? The youngests only eighteen months. They *need* this flat. Its hard for them.
And its easy for me?! The words tore out. You think I dont struggle? Im 28, no support, no husband, no kidsjust work *you* dont even respect!
They exchanged a glance. As if she were exhausting them. As if her pain was just drama.
Youre a strong girl, Mum said, shaking her head. Youll manage. But Tom and Lisatheyve got no time to even *think*
*And when do I get to think?* she wanted to snap, but didnt. There was no energy left.
So where am I supposed to go? she asked hoarsely. Im not asking for money, for help. Justa corner. Just *understanding*.
Youll find a rental, Mum said vaguely. Everyone does it. Young people all rent these days. And you dont even yknow, work *properly*. No ties.
Are you even *hearing* yourselves?!
She didnt remember how the night ended. Only sitting on the windowsill later, staring into the dark courtyard.
Rain fell, spiteful, streaking the glass like silent tears.
The next morning, noise woke hersuitcases, voices, shuffling.
Marina, were just storing Toms things in the cupboard for now, Mum said, not even looking at her. Theyre moving in, you understand.
She understood. Had *always* understood. But living with it was vile.
Marina, love, its all settled. Mums tone was casual, like passing the salt at dinner. Light. Mundane. No weight.
So youre not asking. Not offering. Justtelling me?
Whats to ask? Mum sighed. Youre a grown woman. Time to stand on your own feet. Its not nursery school.
Besides, its temporary. Find a placemaybe thingsll change later.
Temporary? Right. For a decade or two. Till Toms got *grandkids*.
There you go again, twisting everything. Mum rolled her eyes. Always so dramatic.
We *care*. Were not your enemies. But family isnt just *you*.
Of course not, Marina smirked bitterly. Everything for Tom. Everything *his*. And Imwhat? Excess baggage? Out of sight, out of mind?
Now youre being ridiculous. Dad reappeared. Toms our *son*. And youyoure strong. Youll understand.
*I dont want to be strong. I just want to matter.*
The next day, she went to view a room to rent.
Twenty minutes from homeyet another world. A grey stairwell with rusted doors, a grumbling neighbour complaining about cats yowling at night.
The flat was a museum of clutterpeeling rose wallpaper, a carpet hung like a tapestry, a stool missing a leg.
The landladya woman with a smokers rasp and a look like shed been asked for a loaneyed her.
Where dyou work?
Freelance. I write articles. Online.
Online? Whats that?
On a computer. The internet. Ive got regular clients.
Ah. So youre at home all day. She sniffed. Well, no guests. And laundry once a week. Electricitys dear these days.
Marina nodded, feeling something inside her collapse.
Home sweet home.
That evening, Mum texted her a photo: *Look, weve set up the cot. Isnt it sweet?*
Oh, *delightful*.
So, whatve you decided? Dad asked over dinner. Marina had come for the last of her thingstrainers, a tripod, the blanket Grandad had given her.
Found a room for now, she said flatly. Might move farther later. Figure things out step by step.
Good, he nodded. And time you got a *proper* job. With people. A routine
Dad, she sighed. My clients are from all over. I run a blog for a company turning over millions. I write pieces read by *thousands* daily. But you and Mum refuse to see it.
Whos to say any of thats real, eh? Toms got proper accounts, payslips, a salary. Yours is all smoke and mirrors. Ten articles todaythen what?
Then, Dad, Ill *live*. As best I can. Without you. Thanks for teaching me not to expect helpor recognition.
He started to reply, but she was already up, keys in pocket, heading for the door.
Marina His voice followed her. We didnt mean harm.
She paused, just for a second.
I know. You just didnt *think*.
And left.
The new room smelled of mothballs. The curtains were old, beige-grey. The walls a dismal green.
Marina sat on the bed, knees drawn up, thinking how *easily* theyd erased her.
No fuss. No noise. Just *move out. Youre strong. Youre alone, so you dont count.*
Maybe it was for the best. But her chest felt hollow. Hollow and sore.
*You didnt break,* she whispered into the dark. *Thats a win already.*
She woke before her alarm more often now. Just opening her eyes in the half-light, staring at the ceiling.
The neighbours muttering, the reek of old carpetit all pressed down like a slab.
But worse was the thought: *home* wasnt hers anymore. Her parents saw her as dead weight.
She wrotesilent, focused, feverish. Worked herself ragged.
Managed accounts for two firms, took extra gigs, edited through the night. Money came. Clients praised. She felt nothing.
Because inside, it still hurt.
One evening, the air thick with fried onions from next door, her brother
