You stole my car. You planned this to humiliate me. The logistics were more useful. When can I get my clothes? Where is the lease paperwork?
How do I keep my phone number? What happened to the subscriptions? I responded only to the practical questions. Property access: contact Linda. She has instructions.
Phone: transfer link attached. Vehicle: returned to lessor; no property of yours was left inside other than two small items dealership agreed to hold for pickup. Cards: accounts closed to authorized users; existing legitimate charges remain my responsibility. No commentary.
No debate. At 11:30, my mother called. Her tone told me before she said anything.
"Sarah called the house."
I closed my laptop.
"I assumed she might."
"She was crying."
I rubbed my forehead.
"Mom-"
"I'm not calling to tell you to take her back. I want to know what happened."
So I told her. Not every insulting detail. Enough. My mother was quiet after I repeated the phrase replaceable.
"She said that to you?"
"Yes."
"While living in that apartment?"
"Yes."
"And you're sure you're not doing anything foolish legally?"
I smiled despite myself.
"I learned caution somewhere."
"Good answer."
She paused.
"Sarah said you threw her onto the street and stole her car."
"I moved out of an apartment leased only to me. Management is giving her the required access to remove her property. I returned a leased vehicle that was legally in my name."
"That sounds different."
"It is."
"She asked to stay here."
That surprised me.
"What did you say?"
"No."
I exhaled.
"Thank you."