Part 3 — Finding Somewhere New

I spent the remainder of Saturday searching Zillow and Craigslist, alternating between anger and heartbreak.

From the bedroom she’d claimed, Kayla played loud music and laughed with friends over the phone.

I overheard them discussing parties they planned to host in the apartment.

By evening, I’d identified three possible rentals.

All were smaller than my current home and more expensive than my original $1,000 arrangement.

But none came with an uninvited sister or parents controlling my living arrangements.

I scheduled viewings for Sunday.

I barely slept that night.

The following morning, Kayla was still snoring in my former bedroom while I quietly prepared coffee and reviewed the addresses.

The first apartment was awful.

Its online photographs had concealed cigarette odors and spreading brown water stains across the ceiling.

The second was somewhat better, but its condition didn’t justify the enormous rent.

The third apartment was different.

Situated in a quiet neighborhood approximately fifteen minutes from Horizon Prep, it occupied an older but carefully maintained building.

The owner, Linda Cooper, personally showed me around.

It had only one bedroom, rather than two, but the space felt welcoming.

Hardwood floors stretched beneath generous windows, and sunlight filled the compact kitchen.

“It’s 1,100 a month,” Linda explained. “Plus 1 month’s deposit, first month in deposit upfront.”

The rent exceeded what I’d originally paid Mom but was considerably lower than her new demand.

Most importantly, nobody could force an unwanted roommate on me.

“I’ll take it,” I said without hesitation. “When can I move in?”

“Next week if you send the deposit by Wednesday,” she smiled.

We shook hands.

I transferred the money that evening and signed a standard rental agreement.

Leaving Linda’s building, I felt an enormous sense of relief.

Then another thought occurred to me.

I’d purchased nearly all the furniture in Mom’s apartment.

I’d paid for improvements, saved for the sectional, and taken extra tutoring work to afford the dining table.

Was I really going to leave my belongings for Kayla and her friends to enjoy or destroy?

Absolutely not.

They hadn’t contributed anything toward those purchases.

Mom’s favoritism didn’t entitle Kayla to inherit them.

That evening, I began arranging the move.

I contacted Gabe, a friend who operated a small moving company.

“Hey, are you free on Wednesday?” I asked. “I need to move some things out of an apartment. And I kind of need it done while the roommate isn’t home.”

“Smells like drama.” Gabe chuckled.

“You have no idea.”

I also called Lisa and Eli, two friends who immediately agreed to help with packing.

Kayla usually left around ten in the morning to visit the mall or meet friends, returning sometime in the evening.

That gave us several uninterrupted hours.

On Wednesday, I took a sick day from school.

Kayla eventually woke, dressed, and left at approximately ten.

As soon as the door shut behind her, I began.

Lisa and Eli arrived, and we packed everything belonging to me.

Clothing, dishes, books, decorations, and household items disappeared into boxes.

Gabe soon arrived with his crew and moving truck.

We left behind only Aunt Margaret’s original wardrobe and an old dresser in the smaller bedroom.

The rest of the furnishings were mine.

Within three hours, the movers had loaded my leather sectional, dining table, bed, mattress, television, bookcases, and all the other pieces I’d accumulated.

I inspected the apartment one final time.

Without my belongings, it looked surprisingly bare.

I’d expected to feel devastated.

Instead, I felt liberated.

I drove behind the moving truck to Linda’s property.

She was waiting with my keys.

“Welcome to your new home,” she said warmly.

Lisa and Eli helped unpack and arrange the furniture.

We ordered Domino’s pizza for dinner.

By evening, my new apartment already looked inviting.

The sectional fitted beautifully into the living room, while my bedroom furniture seemed even more attractive in its smaller surroundings.

Eli stretched out on the couch with a beer.

“This place has good energy,” he said. “Way better than that family soap opera.”

I was exhausted but deeply satisfied.

For once, I’d responded to unfair treatment by taking control rather than quietly accepting it.

Around nine that night, my phone began ringing.

Kayla.

I pictured her returning to a nearly empty apartment and allowed the call to go to voicemail.

Five minutes later, she called again.

Then again.

I couldn’t help imagining her expression upon discovering that the furniture she’d probably planned to display on Instagram was gone.

Around 9:30, Mom called.

This time, I answered.