Chapter 4

During my four years of college, I spent every winter and summer break at Grandma's house.

Not because I didn't want to go to my parents' house. Because no one asked me to come back.

One year during fall break, I tried calling my mom.

"Can I come home and stay for a couple days this fall break?"

There was a pause on the other end.

"Chloe... the house is being renovated right now. There's dust everywhere. You should go to Grandma's instead."

Renovations.

Later I saw a post Marcus made on Twitter. On the day of fall break, the three of them took a family photo in the newly renovated living room.

New sofa, new TV, new curtains.

Marcus's caption read, "New house feels amazing."

In the comments, my mom replied, "As long as you like it."

As long as Marcus liked it. A new home for three people. No place for me.

After college graduation, I stayed in the state.

A law firm. Internship salary of thirty-five hundred a month.

I never asked my family for money, because I knew even if I asked, they wouldn't give it.

And also because from the age of six, I knew one thing—rely on yourself.

In this life, aside from Grandma, I could only rely on myself.

My third year working, I got a permanent position. Salary of twelve thousand a month.

Fourth year, I got promoted. Eighteen thousand.

Fifth year, I was handling cases independently.

During those five years, my mom called me four times.

First time: "Chloe, Marcus is looking for a job. Can you help ask around in the city?"

Second time: "Chloe, Marcus has a girlfriend. They're buying a house but they're short on money—"

Third time: "Chloe, Marcus—"

Fourth time: "Chloe, Marcus—"

Every single time was about Marcus.

Not once did she say, "Chloe, how have you been lately?"

Did I give them money? Yes.

The first time I lent them twenty thousand. They said they'd pay it back in six months. Three years later, they'd never mentioned it again.

The second time they asked for another thirty thousand. This time they didn't even say "borrow." My mom's exact words were "transfer thirty thousand to Marcus."

Transfer. Not borrow. Transfer.

As if my money was naturally meant to be spent on Marcus.

Fifty thousand dollars total. To this day, not a penny paid back. But I didn't care about that fifty thousand.

What I cared about was this—

When they needed money from me, I was "family."

When they didn't need money from me, I was "that one from Grandma's house."

I'm twenty-six now. Twenty years. I stopped expecting them to call me their daughter a long time ago.

Until Grandma got sick.

Last October, Grandma was diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer.

When the call came, my hands were shaking.

I requested extended leave and rushed back to town.

Grandma had lost a lot of weight. Her hair was completely white.

Lying in the hospital bed, she saw me come in and smiled.

"Chloe's here."

"I'm here."

I held her hand. So thin. I could feel her bones.

"I'm going to take care of you."

Grandma shook her head. "No need. Your work—"

"Work isn't important."

I looked at her.

"You're important."

Grandma's eyes turned red.

She didn't say anything. She just squeezed my hand tight.

For the next forty-seven days, I stayed at the hospital.

During the day I fed her, bathed her, accompanied her to tests.

At night I slept on the folding bed next to hers.

Forty-seven days. Scott came twice.

The first time he stayed half an hour, took a phone call in the hallway, and left.

The second time he brought a bag of fruit, set it down, and left.

Ruth came once. Sat for fifteen minutes, looked at the IV line, looked out the window, said to Grandma "Take care of yourself," and left.

Marcus never came. Not once.

Forty-seven days. Just me.

Once the attending physician pulled me aside and asked, "Where are your grandmother's other relatives?"

I said, "Just me."

He looked at me.

"You are...?"

"Granddaughter."

He was silent for a moment.

"Her other children should come visit too."

I smiled.

"They're busy."

During Grandma's last week in the hospital, she could barely speak anymore.

One night, she suddenly grabbed my hand.

"Chloe."

"Grandma, I'm here."

"In my closet... there's a metal box."

Her voice was very soft.

"There are some things inside... take them."

"Grandma—"

"Take them." She looked at me. "They should be yours."

She said one more thing.

Her voice was very soft, but I heard it clearly.

"Chloe, the person I've wronged most in this life is you. You shouldn't have had to suffer through all that."

Ten days later, Grandma passed away.

Three days after Grandma died, I opened that metal box.

Inside were three things.