Chapter 2 - THE PRICE OF BEING THE GOOD DAUGHTER
My mother didn't touch the paper.
She stared at it as if the number itself had insulted her.
"Eighty-six thousand?"
I nodded.
"That's what I could document."
Rachel laughed.
"That's ridiculous."
"No."
"It can't be that much."
"It is."
Mom finally grabbed the folder.
She flipped through the pages.
Credit card statements.
Bank transfers.
Rent payments.
Medical bills.
Car payments.
Late fees.
Utility bills.
Hotel reservations.
Online purchases.
Thousands of dollars I had forgotten.
Because that was the problem with constantly rescuing people.
You stopped noticing how much you were losing.
"You've been keeping records?" Mom asked.
"Not at first."
I swallowed.
"I started after Rachel promised she'd repay me for the third time."
Rachel's expression hardened.
"You always said it was a gift."
"I said it was a gift because you kept telling me you'd repay me."
"You didn't have to give it."
"Exactly."
Mom slammed the folder shut.
"Family doesn't keep score."
I looked at her.
"Family shouldn't need to."
Silence.
Rachel crossed her arms.
"So what? You're going to punish my children?"
"No."
"I knew it."
"I'm not punishing anyone."
I pointed toward the folder.
"I'm stopping."
Mom shook her head.
"You've changed."
I looked down at Iris.
"Yes."
That answer seemed to frighten her more than anger would have.
Rachel stepped forward.
"You think having a baby makes you better than us?"
"No."
"Then why are you acting like this?"
"Because having a baby made me realize what I want her to learn."
Rachel stared.
"What?"
"That love doesn't mean surrendering your entire life to people who keep taking."
Mom's face turned pale.
"How dare you."
"I've spent my entire adult life trying to earn a place in this family."
My voice shook.
"But apparently the only thing that ever earned me attention was money."
Nobody answered.
Then my mother said the words I had secretly expected.
"If you walk away now, don't expect us to be here when you need us."
I nodded.
"Okay."
She blinked.
"Okay?"
"Yes."
"You'll come crawling back."
"No."
Rachel laughed bitterly.
"You'll regret this."
I looked at my daughter.
"I already regret something."
"What?"
"Waiting this long."
Mom grabbed her purse.
"We're leaving."
Rachel followed.
At the doorway, my mother turned.
"You've always been cold."
I looked at her.
"I learned it from you."
She slammed the door.
My hands started shaking.
I sat on the couch.
Iris cried.
I picked her up.
And for the first time since becoming a mother, I cried too.
Not because I regretted saying no.
Because I finally understood how much saying yes had cost me.
That night, Daniel called.
"You okay?"
I hesitated.
"Not really."
His expression changed.
"What happened?"
I told him everything.
He listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he was silent.
Then he said:
"Elena, I wish you'd told me sooner."
"I didn't want to distract you."
"You and Iris are not distractions."
My eyes filled.
"I know."
"Do you?"
I nodded.
Daniel leaned toward the screen.
"How much have you given them?"
"Eighty-six thousand that I can prove."
He closed his eyes.
"Jesus."
"I know."
"Why didn't I know?"
"Because I was ashamed."
"Don't be."
He looked directly at me.
"You were trying to keep your family together."
"I failed."
"No."
His voice softened.
"They failed you."
That sentence stayed with me.
Two days later, something unexpected happened.
A certified letter arrived.
It was from an attorney.
I almost threw it away.
Then I saw the name.
HARRIS & COLEMAN LEGAL GROUP.
I opened it.
The letter concerned an account my late grandfather had created in my name when I was sixteen.
An account I had completely forgotten.
The balance was substantial.
Very substantial.
But there was a problem.
My mother had been listed as the custodian.
And according to the bank records, money had been withdrawn from the account over several years.
Without my authorization.
I read the final paragraph three times.
The attorney wanted to meet.
I called the number.
A woman answered.
"Ms. Elena?"
"Yes."
"My name is Laura Harris."
"What is this about?"
There was a pause.
"Your grandfather left instructions that this account could not be accessed for your benefit until you turned thirty."
"I'm thirty-two."
"I know."
"How much is in it?"
Another pause.
"Approximately $142,000."
I sat down.
"What?"
"And that's not all."
My heart began pounding.
"There's another trust."
I couldn't speak.
"Your grandfather left specific instructions regarding your mother and sister."
I looked toward the hallway.
Iris was sleeping.
My entire life had just shifted beneath my feet.
"Why am I only hearing about this now?"
Laura's voice became careful.
"Because someone tried to close the trust six months ago."
"Who?"
May you like
"Your mother."
My blood ran cold.
