The eviction was about to happen, and Mark was going to feel what it was like to be discarded like a useless piece of junk. Just as he had wanted to discard the memory of my mother from this house that very morning, the sky outside began to darken with gathering storm clouds, as if nature itself was ready to greet Mark with a cold storm, as cold as the fate that awaited him on the street. The sky outside had turned a lead and gray, as if the universe were echoing the tension in our living room. The echo of Mr. Harrison’s voice firing Mark still reverberated off the walls, creating an atmosphere that was suffocating, yet for me liberating.
The last of the guests had hastily departed, heads bowed, leaving only Mark and Jessica, cornered like rats discovered in a granary. I stood tall beside Mr. Harrison, watching with an empty gaze as Mark remained kneeling on the floor. His shattered cell phone lay beside his knee, a dead object that was a silent testament to his financial ruin. But the social and economic punishment was not enough. There was one matter left to resolve, one final possession that had to be stripped from him for my victory to be absolute and complete. It was this house, the house Mark had proclaimed as his palace, the place where he had acted like a king with absolute power over my mother and me.
With the last shreds of courage he could muster from the rubble of his shattered pride. Mark tried to stand. His legs trembled, but he forced himself to look at me. His eyes were red, swollen, and revealed absolute panic. He knew he had lost his job. He knew he had lost his reputation, but he still believed he had a place to stay. In a hoarse voice that tried to sound firm, Mark pointed to the exit and yelled at me. He was kicking me out. He said that if I really wanted to break up with him and side with Mr. Harrison, I had to leave his house.