“We’re Renovating Your Childhood Room For The Baby,” My Sister Said, Standing In My Doorway With…

“I already needed you. You were busy picking paint.” I said.

My dad shook his head slowly, like I was a disappointment.

“So you’re just going to walk out?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Tonight.” I added.

My mom took a step toward me, her voice softening into manipulation.

“Max, we were going to tell you we could move you to the basement.” she said.

“The basement?” I repeated.

“With the mold smell and the leaking window?” I asked.

“It’s fine,” my dad said.

“People have it worse.” he added.

I stared at them for a long second, then I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said.

“They do. But I’m done comparing my life to misery as a way to justify you treating me like an ATM.” I stated.

Emily’s face hardened.

“So what? You think you’re a hero because you run into buildings?” she asked.

“No,” I said quietly.

“I think I’m a grown man who deserves a door that doesn’t get repainted over him.” I said.

And I walked out. I didn’t slam anything; I didn’t scream; I just left.

My boots thudded down the steps, the night air cold and clean against my face. It felt like stepping out of a burning house and realizing you’d been choking for years.

I slept on my buddy Louis’s couch that night. He lived ten minutes from the station and didn’t ask questions beyond, “You safe?”

That was enough.

The $34,000 Fraud

The next day I woke up to my phone vibrating like it was trying to crawl off the table. I answered the unknown number groggily.

“Hello?” I said.

“Hi, this is Brad with Northridge Renovations,” a man said, brisk and cheerful.

“We’re scheduled to start today. I’m at the address.” he said.

I sat up.

“Okay.” I said.

There was a pause, like he was waiting for me to say something else. Then Brad cleared his throat.

“So, quick question: Who’s paying? The invoice is 34,000.” he asked.

My stomach dropped so fast it felt like I’d missed a step on a ladder.

“What?” I said.

“I’ve got the contract here,” Brad continued.

“Deposit was supposed to be processed this morning, but it bounced. I’m standing with a crew and materials. Just need to know which card we’re running for the initial payment.” he explained.

My heart started hammering.

“Hold on. What contract?” I asked.

“The nursery renovation,” Brad said, like I was slow.

“Full demo, new drywall, electrical, flooring, built-in shelving. It’s a really cute design, by the way.” he added.

I swung my legs off the couch, suddenly fully awake.

“Whose name is on that contract?” I asked.

There was another pause and the sound of paper shuffling.

“Maxwell Carter,” Brad said.

“That you?” he asked.

My mouth went dry.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“That’s me. But I didn’t sign anything.” I said.

Brad exhaled, and the cheerfulness died.

“Uh, it’s got your signature and your email. And your phone number. That’s this number.” he said.

My fingers tightened around the phone.

“Email?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Brad said.

“MaxCarterFDsomething.” he read.

That was my email, the one I used for shift swaps and HR paperwork. The one only my parents knew because I had used their printer once to print out my benefits paperwork, and my mom had helpfully saved my login information.

My chest went cold.

“Brad,” I said, forcing my voice steady the way I did at a scene when a homeowner started panicking.

“Do not start any work. Do not touch anything. I’m on my way.” I ordered.

I hung up and stared at the wall like it might explain how my family could possibly be this bold. Luis wandered in, rubbing his eyes.

“You look like you saw a ghost.” he said.

“I think my parents forged my signature.” I said.

He blinked.

“That’s a sentence.” he replied.

I grabbed my jacket.

“I’m going there.” I said.

The drive to my parents’ house took twelve minutes. My hands shook the entire time, white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

I kept replaying the conversation: “It’s got your name,” “Deposit bounced.” How much was the deposit?

I pulled up my banking app at a red light. My account history loaded and my stomach twisted.

A charge attempt from Northridge Renovations for $8,500 showed as declined.

I hadn’t declined it; my bank had because my debit card had a daily limit and the transaction was flagged.

A cold wave of gratitude hit me so hard I almost laughed. My bank’s fraud detection was the only person in my life who had apparently decided to protect me.

Confronting the Betrayal

When I pulled into the driveway, Brad’s truck was there. Two guys in work boots stood beside it, arms crossed, waiting.

Brad himself was on his phone, pacing. My mom opened the front door before I even got out of the car like she’d been watching.

Her face was bright and false.

“Max! Hi, we were going to call you.” she said.

“Why is my name on the renovation contract?” I asked, loud enough for Brad to hear.

Her smile flickered.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re overreacting.” she said.

I walked past her into the hallway like I still lived there, like I still belonged. My dad was in the kitchen reading the paper.

Emily was at the table sipping a smoothie, scrolling on her phone like nothing was happening, like I wasn’t a person.

“Max,” Emily said, without looking up.

“If you came to yell, don’t. I’m stressed.” she said.

I pointed toward the front yard.

“There’s a contractor outside with a $34,000 invoice in my name.” I said.

Emily finally looked up, her expression one of pure annoyance.

“Okay. And?” she asked.

“And I didn’t sign anything,” I said.

My dad folded the paper slowly.

“Lower your voice.” he said.

“Lower my voice?” I snapped.

“You committed fraud.” I stated.

My mom’s eyes darted toward the front door like she didn’t want the neighbors hearing.

“Max, don’t say things like that. It’s not fraud. We just used your information because you’re part of the household.” she said.

“I’m not,” I said.

“I moved out last night. Remember? Because you took my room.” I reminded them.

Emily waved her hand.

“God, you’re being so dramatic. It’s for the baby.” she said.

I stared at her.

“And you thought I was paying for it?” I asked.