Part 2: My stepdaughter insulted me at Sunday dinner and told me I was nobody, completely unaware that her university tuition, apartment rent, and luxury car insurance were paid entirely out of my personal bank account.

Three days passed in absolute, frigid silence.

Darcy barely spoke to me, spending his evenings locked in his home study frantically calling banks, credit unions, and second-tier lenders trying to secure a personal loan. But Darcy's credit score was hovering in the low 600s due to unpaid credit cards from his previous marriage, and his debt-to-income ratio made him radioactive to legitimate lenders.

On Thursday afternoon, the management office of The Pearl Vista—the luxury high-rise where Shay lived—sent a formal letter directly to Shay's unit, with an electronic copy delivered to my email.

It was the formal ninety-day notice of lease termination.

Because I had paid the early exit fee of four thousand dollars out of pocket, the lease would officially terminate at the end of May. If the tenant wished to renew under a new lease agreement, she was required to demonstrate proof of monthly income equal to three times the rent—which was $3,200 a month—or provide a qualified guarantor with an annual income exceeding $120,000.

Shay possessed neither.

At five o'clock on Thursday, my front door bell rang. It wasn't Darcy.

I opened the door to find Shay standing on the porch. The arrogant smirk, the designer sunglasses, and the haughty disdain were completely gone. Her mascara was slightly smudged. She was wearing an oversized hoodie from PCU and holding a crumpled copy of the eviction notice in her hands.

"Can I come in?" she asked, her voice quiet, almost hoarse.

"No," I answered calmly from the threshold. "You made your feelings about this house and its owner very clear. We can speak right here."

She swallowed hard, looking down at the slate pavers. "The landlord came to my door today. He said if I don't sign a new lease or move out by May, the building sheriff will remove my belongings."

"That is standard procedure for a terminated lease," I said.

"Elena... please," she choked out, her pride finally cracking wide open. "Dad can't get a loan. He tried three banks and they all turned him down. My thesis is locked. If I don't pay the university by tomorrow, they're going to drop me from the spring commencement list. I won't get my degree."

"That sounds like a terrible situation for you, Shay."

"Can't you just pay the school?" she begged, tears spilling freely over her cheeks now. "Just the tuition! Forget the car! Forget the apartment! I'll find a roommate! Just pay the school so I can graduate! I worked four years for this!"

"You didn't work for this," I replied, my voice steady, devoid of anger but firm as iron. "I paid for this. You partied on Thursday nights, went to boutique fitness studios on my card, and drove a seventy-thousand-dollar German luxury car you didn't earn. And while you did that, you treated the person financing your entire existence like domestic staff."