My new home was in a gated community in Carmel with two hectares of wooded land and a massive pool. I didn’t buy it out of vanity, but simply because I had earned the right to own it.
I checked my voicemail and heard Brianna sobbing as she spoke to someone she thought was our mother. “Mom, I am outside looking at Audrey’s house and it is an estate with cameras everywhere!” she cried.
She complained about how they were struggling with their mortgage while I lived in luxury. “Dad said she was a failure, so why does she have all of this?” she asked through her tears.
The message revealed that they didn’t want to know how I succeeded, but rather why I was allowed to have more than them. My phone rang again and I knew it was my mother using a different line to bypass my block.
“Hello, Audrey! We have been so worried about you,” Sandra said with a fake excitement. “Hello, Sandra,” I replied coldly.
She mentioned that Brianna had seen my house and noted that my little business must be doing well. “They never asked how I was doing,” I reminded her.
She claimed that Brianna was going through a tough time with the mortgage and suggested I should provide a loan because family helps each other. I smiled without any joy because I knew the wound from three years ago was about to find its answer.
