When I told my mother that I had bought a house, after saving for ten years to achieve it, she grabbed my hair and held a lighter to me.

I did not scream or beg for mercy, but instead, I simply looked directly into her eyes and realized that she did not actually care about the money as much as she cared about my total obedience. My father finally spoke my name in a weak and trembling voice that felt like an apology that had arrived far too many years late.

“Eleanor, please stop this right now before things go too far,” he pleaded softly, though he made no move to actually step in and intervene. Celine rolled her eyes and let out a sigh of genuine boredom as she watched the scene unfold from the safety of the hallway.

“Honestly, there is no need for all of this dramatic behavior over a simple house when you could just rent an apartment and be done with it,” Celine remarked with a sneer. My mother suddenly extinguished the flame and released my hair with a flick of her wrist as if she were discarding a piece of trash.