He was obsessed with appearances.
I didn’t correct him—the money wasn’t ours, it was mine. My parents made sure of that in their will, cutting Stuart out completely.
Stuart hated it. Thought it meant they never trusted him. He froze me out for months over it. Things only got better after we adopted Peter.
Maybe that’s why he never spent a dime on us. Kept his salary a mystery. Snapped if I even asked.
So I paid for everything—Peter’s tuition, his hobbies, our daily expenses.
But I never minded—because I thought we were a family.
***
In the end, I sold my parents’ house, pawned my favorite jewelry, and handed Peter the money as a gift. He got what he wanted—his dream high-rise, paid in full.
But buying was just step one. Next came renovations.
When Peter looked at me, desperate, I gritted my teeth and swallowed my pride, reaching out for a loan.
“A loan?” My old friend, whom I hadn’t contacted in ages, scoffed. “You haven’t worked in years. How would you even pay me back?”
