Chapter 3

A few hours later, my parents announced they had to leave again.

"Another commission, Olivia," David said, avoiding my eyes. "It' s a follow-up from last night. We have to go."

Sarah pressed a crumpled fifty-dollar bill into my hand. "Here, sweetie. For groceries. Get yourself something nice for dinner."

The fifty dollars felt like an insult. It was pocket change to them, a fortune to the person they pretended I was.

"Actually, Mom," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I was thinking of visiting Grandma and Grandpa today. I haven' t seen them in a while."

Sarah' s face brightened. "What a wonderful idea! They' ll be so happy to see you. I' ll drop you off on my way."

The lie was so seamless. My paternal grandparents, according to the family lore, were retired factory workers living on a meager pension. Their home was in a gritty, working-class neighborhood on the other side of town.

An hour later, I was standing in front of their small, tidy bungalow. My grandmother enveloped me in a hug that smelled of lavender and mothballs. "Olivia! My darling girl! Look at you, so grown up!"

My grandfather patted my back, his smile warm. "Good to see you, kiddo."

It was all so perfectly staged. The worn-out furniture, the faded floral wallpaper, the smell of boiled cabbage in the air. But today, I saw the cracks in the facade.

My grandfather, the "retired factory worker," wore a thin gold watch that peeked out from under his cuff. I recognized the brand-a Rolex. It was subtle, but it was there. My grandmother' s hands, supposedly worn from a life of labor, were perfectly manicured, her nails buffed to a healthy shine.

They fussed over me, offering me tea and cookies from a generic store-brand tin. Then, my grandfather slipped a red envelope into my hand.

"For you, Olivia. A little something for the New Year."

Every year, I would take this money and dutifully deposit it into my savings account, the one I was building to help my parents in their old age.

This time was different.

"Thanks, Grandpa," I said. Later that afternoon, with my mom still there, I made a show of looking up new phones online.

"My phone is so old and slow," I announced to my mother. "I think I' ll use the money Grandma and Grandpa gave me to buy a new one."

Sarah looked surprised. "Really? Are you sure, honey? You' re usually so good at saving."

"New year, new me," I said with a shrug, trying to sound casual.

My grandparents chuckled. "That' s the spirit!" my grandfather said. "A young lady should have nice things."

My mother beamed with pride. "She' s so responsible, though. Always thinking of us. She never asks for anything. She got into college on a full scholarship, you know. Doesn' t cost us a penny."

Every word was a twisting knife. They weren' t proud of my independence; they were relieved by it. My "tough love" upbringing wasn't a lesson in character; it was a cost-saving measure.

For dinner, my grandmother served a simple meal of pot roast and vegetables. But as I took a bite, I knew. The beef was Wagyu, meltingly tender. The carrots were from an expensive organic farm. They were cooking with ingredients that cost more per pound than our entire weekly grocery budget.

The hypocrisy was suffocating.

After dinner, Sarah' s phone buzzed. "Oh, it' s your father," she said, her expression turning serious. "There' s an issue with the commission. I have to go, sweetie. Can you get home on your own?"

"Of course," I said.

I waited another thirty minutes, making small talk until my grandparents started to yawn and look at the clock.

"You two look tired," I said, standing up. "I should get going. Thanks for everything."

They hugged me goodbye at the door, their faces a perfect mask of gentle, working-class love.

I walked away from the house, but I didn' t head for the bus stop. I hid in the shadows of a nearby building and waited.