The penthouse suite was bigger than the first apartment I ever rented. It had a wraparound private balcony, a marble bathroom with a soaking tub, a dining table for eight, and a butler named Rafael who’d left a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket with a card that said, “Welcome aboard, Ms. Miller.”
The card had only my name on it. For once, something I’d paid for belonged completely to me.
That night I sat on the balcony wrapped in the plush white robe, listening to the waves, and I cried harder than I’d cried since I was a little girl.
You’re just the kid who came with the house.
I kept hearing it. All those years of paying bills and fixing emergencies and writing checks. I’d been trying to earn something I’d been told was already mine the day a judge signed my adoption order.
At 11:40 p.m., someone knocked on the suite door.
I wiped my face and opened it.
It was Mom, alone, in a cardigan over her nightgown, her eyes red and swollen.
“Can I come in?” she whispered.
I stepped aside.
She walked into the suite and stopped in the middle of the living room, staring at the floor-to-ceiling windows and the moonlight on the water.
“Oh, Millie,” she said softly. “It’s beautiful.”
“It is.”
She sat down on the edge of the couch. Her hands were shaking.
“I didn’t want to send that text,” she said. “I need you to know that.”
“But you sent it.”
“Your father made me.” She looked up at me. “He was standing right there. He took my phone and read it before I hit send.”
I sat down across from her. “Why, Mom? Why did he want me off a trip I paid for?”
She closed her eyes for a long time.
“Because of Brandon,” she said finally.
“Brandon?”
“Brandon’s going to propose to Vanessa on this cruise. Thursday night, at the captain’s dinner. He’s got the ring and everything.” She swallowed. “And on Friday, your father and Brandon were going to sign papers. Brandon’s buying into the business.”
I went very still. “Buying into Miller Home Builders?”
Mom nodded. “Forty-nine percent. For fifteen thousand dollars.”
I stared at her. “Fifteen thousand dollars? For half of Dad’s company?”
“Brandon says it’s what it’s worth right now, with all the debt.”
“Mom, Dad still owes me thirty-eight thousand dollars on the loan I gave him three years ago.”
“I know.” She twisted her wedding ring around her finger. “That’s the problem.”
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
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