As my stepmother shoved my belongings into bags and my father stood silent, it felt like my entire world collapsed. But just days later, they showed up at my door, asking for another chance—by then, everything had already changed.

My name is Elena. I’m 23, just out of college, still trying to figure things out. I thought moving back home for a few months would give me space to breathe, save some money, and start fresh. I never imagined it would fall apart so fast.

I lost my mom when I was 14. My dad and I were shattered. For a while, it was just us.

Then Carol came.

I tried to stay out of her way—cleaned, kept quiet, did everything right. But it was never enough. “You’re not my problem,” she once told me. My dad just mumbled, “Let’s not make waves, kiddo.”

She nitpicked everything. If I forgot to unload the dishwasher, she acted like I’d set the place on fire. “Elena, you have to carry your weight,” she’d snap.

After college, I had no choice but to come back. Carol didn’t hide her disdain.

I kept hoping things would change. But some homes don’t feel like home anymore.

And some silences are louder than words.