At family dinner, my sister tapped her wineglass and announced, “By the way, your rent’s going up to $6,800. Market rate. Don’t like it? Move.” Everyone laughed like it was a comedy special—jokes about how I’m the “family failure” who should be grateful she even lets me live there. Just like the title “At family dinner, my Karen sister raised my rent to $6800…” I just smiled, because the paperwork in my bag said something she didn’t know yet: starting Monday, I own the house.
hakok