Chapter 2

The next few days were a nightmare of escalating demands. Jessie treated our home like a hostile territory she was determined to conquer.

"I've been thinking," she announced at breakfast two days later, pushing her untouched cereal bowl away. A fresh pop-up appeared, bold and demanding.

*"Don't just ask for the rent back. What about damages? Emotional distress? They owe you BIG TIME!"*

"It's not just the rent money," she said, her voice cold. "It's the principle of the thing. You've benefited from my presence here. I've been, essentially, an unpaid domestic servant."

David, who was trying to read the newspaper, lowered it slowly. "Domestic servant? Jessie, you barely make your bed."

"That's not the point!" she snapped. The pop-up above her head flashed: *"Attack! Deflect! They're trying to undermine your legitimate claims!"*

"The point is," she continued, "I deserve compensation. For all the years I lived here, contributing to the household atmosphere."

I almost laughed, it was so outrageous, but the look on her face stopped me. She was serious.

"Jessie," I said, trying to sound reasonable, "you're our daughter. We raised you, fed you, clothed you. That's what parents do."

*"Typical boomer excuse! They're trying to guilt trip you! Don't let them!"* the pop-up screamed silently.

"And now it's payback time," Jessie said smoothly. "I've calculated it. Based on average roommate costs, plus a nominal fee for, let's say, 'positive household energy contribution,' you owe me an additional ten thousand dollars."

David just stared, speechless.

"And if I don't get it," she added, a sly look in her eyes, "I've been reading about small claims court. It's very effective for recovering debts from family members who refuse to acknowledge their obligations."

A pop-up gleamed approvingly: *"Yes! Legal threats! That'll scare the old fools!"*

My hands were shaking. I looked at David, hoping he'd finally stand up to her, but he just looked miserable, avoiding my gaze.

"Jessie, please," he mumbled. "Let's not talk about courts."

"Then pay me what you owe," she said.

Later that day, I found David at the kitchen table, his head in his hands.

"She's talking about suing us, Sarah," he whispered. "Suing us!"

"She's being manipulated, David," I said, my voice low. "There are these... these messages she's seeing, or hearing, I don't know. They're telling her to do this."

He looked up at me, confused. "Messages? What messages?"

I couldn't explain it. How could I? That I saw floating words above her head? He'd think I was losing my mind.

"It's just... this online stuff she's reading. It's twisting her," I said lamely.

That evening, Jessie cornered me in the hallway. My chest tightened. I had a doctor's appointment the next morning for a routine check-up, but I'd been having some palpitations lately.

"So, have you thought about my offer?" she asked, blocking my path.

*"Pressure her! She looks weak! Exploit it!"* a pop-up advised.

"Jessie, this is insane," I said. "We don't have ten thousand dollars lying around to give you for 'positive household energy'."

"Then find it," she said. "Or I'm calling a lawyer tomorrow. And I'll make sure to tell them how you're refusing to support your daughter, probably stressing me out so much it's affecting my health."

The pop-up pulsed: *"Good! Use her health against her! Make her feel guilty!"*

My heart hammered. The thought of lawyers, of this ugliness becoming public, was terrifying. David would never cope.

To my shame, and for David's sake, I caved on the "rent" money.

I went to the bank the next day, my hands trembling as I filled out the withdrawal slip for the eight hundred dollars a month I'd saved.

It was a little over five thousand dollars in total. I told myself it was for peace, a way to stop this madness.

When I handed her the envelope that evening, her eyes lit up.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" she said, snatching it from me.

A pop-up shimmered above her: *"Phase one complete! Now for the real prize!"*

She didn't even say thank you.

Instead, she said, "Now, about the other ten thousand for services rendered..."

I just turned and walked away, my stomach churning. Appeasement hadn't worked. It had only made her hungrier. The pop-ups were celebrating her victory, urging her on. This was far from over.