Chapter 3

03

The next morning, Hudson said his laptop was acting up and asked me to take a look.

I work in tech, so fixing a computer was easy for me. He went out to pick up Lila, leaving me alone at his desk.

His messaging app was set to log in automatically.

The green icon flashed on the taskbar. I didn't mean to look, but two notifications popped up.

The first was from Lila: "Has your sister's ten grand hit the account yet? Once it does, we can put the down payment on the Audi."

The second was from my mom: "Hudson, the planner says the lighting upgrade is another thousand. Tell Selah to wire it."

A thousand. Ten thousand. Twenty thousand.

The Audi.

I stared at the screen, my fingers frozen on the mouse. A realization washed over me like a bucket of ice water.

I clicked on Hudson's messages.

I scrolled down the chat list until I saw a group called "The Inner Circle." Five members. No Selah.

I clicked into it. My hands began to shake.

The most recent message was from my aunt: "Selah is so stingy. She only gave ten thousand for her own brother's wedding? She makes six figures!"

I scrolled further. My mom's message: "Don't tell Selah yet. Wait until after the wedding. Then we'll find a way to make her transfer the house title to Hudson."

My dad's message: "Fine."

My brother's message: "Doesn't Selah have a huge 401k? Can we get her to tap into that too?"

Lila: "She's thirty and still single. Who else is going to take care of her when she's old if not Hudson? She should pay up now."

My aunt: "Exactly! We'll set her up with someone later. For now, let her pay the bills!"

I kept scrolling. With every message, my heart sank deeper into my stomach.

February 13th: "Selah said her bonus was twenty grand. Hudson, tell her you need a new car."

January 20th: "Is Selah coming home for the holidays? If not, tell her to send the money she saved on the flight."

Last November: "Hudson needs extra cash for a work trip. Have Selah Venmo him two thousand."

August 7th: "Why hasn't that girl sent the money yet? Mom, call her and push."

June 1st: "It's Selah's birthday. Nobody call her. If we call, she'll think we actually care about her, and then she won't feel guilty enough to send money."

My birthday.

June 1st. My thirtieth birthday.

Last year, I spent my birthday alone in my apartment eating instant noodles. My phone rang three times, but they were all delivery notifications.

I called my mom that night, but she didn't pick up.

Later, she sent a text: "Busy. Talk later."

I stared at the chat log. June 1st.

"If we call, she'll think we actually care about her, and then she won't feel guilty enough to send money."

Tears hit the keyboard, and I wiped them away fiercely. My hands were trembling.

I kept scrolling back.

There were messages from four years ago, five years ago, seven years ago. Every year was a ledger.

My salary, my bonuses, my savings, the gifts I bought, the cash I sent―all recorded with cold precision.

I finally reached a message from eight years ago. I had just graduated, twenty-two years old, making forty-two hundred a month at my first job.

My mom wrote: "Selah got her first paycheck. Tell her to send three thousand home. We'll make her send it every month so we don't have to worry about Hudson's tuition."

My dad replied with one word: "Fine."

That year, I was living in a tiny, partitioned room in a bad neighborhood. My rent was eight hundred.

I lived on less than four hundred a month for food and transport.

I was too cheap to turn on the heat in the winter and caught a terrible flu. I coughed for two weeks and bought the cheapest medicine I could find for six dollars.

I didn't tell my family. I thought it would break their hearts.

Now I knew their hearts were never mine to break.