That evening, after dinner, I sat with Sarah on our worn-out couch, the fabric soft and familiar under my fingers, like a reminder of the life we’d built—one that I wanted to protect more fiercely than ever.

“Ethan, you can’t keep letting her do this,” Sarah said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, yet heavy with the weight of years of unspoken tension. Her eyes, those same eyes that have seen through each of Victoria’s manipulations, met mine with a quiet resolve.

“I know,” I replied, feeling the words settle into the room like a promise. “It’s time to make a change.”

We sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the gentle hum of the city outside our window. I imagined Lucas and Maya, tucked safely into their beds, dreaming of concerts that felt just out of reach. I needed to be the parent who made those dreams attainable, not just another adult who let them down.

“I’m going to call her,” I finally said, the decision solidifying in my chest. It felt like stepping off a ledge I’d lingered on for far too long.

Sarah nodded, her hand warm in mine. “Just remember, you’re doing this for us—for Lucas and Maya.” Her words were like a guiding light, cutting through the haze of guilt and obligation that had clouded my judgment for so many years.

I picked up my phone, dialing Victoria’s number with a newfound determination. Each ring seemed to echo through the room, a countdown to a conversation that was long overdue.

“Ethan,” Victoria answered, her voice as smooth and unbothered as ever. “What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you about today,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Oh, come on. Are we really going to make a big deal out of this?” she replied, her tone dismissive, almost bored.

I took a deep breath, letting it fill the spaces inside me that had been hollowed out by years of resentment. “Victoria, this stops now. I can’t keep supporting your lifestyle. I have my family to think about, and they come first.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, a silence that felt like a shifting tide. “You’re serious,” she said finally, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“I am,” I replied, the conviction in my words surprising even me. “I’ve let this go on for too long. I love you, but I can’t be your safety net anymore.”

“What about Mom and Dad? They’ll never understand,” she argued, desperation creeping into her voice.

“I’ll explain it to them,” I said, feeling a calmness wash over me. “It’s time they know the truth.”

“Fine,” she snapped, her voice cracking like ice. “Do what you want. But don’t expect me to apologize.”

I hung up, feeling oddly at peace. There was a finality to it, like closing a door that had been stuck ajar.

Turning to Sarah, I felt a lightness I hadn’t known in years. “It’s done,” I said, the words coming out as a sigh of relief.

She smiled, wrapping her arms around me. “I’m proud of you,” she whispered, her breath warm against my neck.

And as we sat there, in the quiet embrace of our home, I felt a surge of hope. For the first time in years, I was no longer the hidden foundation for someone else’s life. I was building my own, brick by honest brick, with the people who mattered most.