Chapter 2 - The House Built on Sacrifices
Richard stared down at the paper, his eyes darting across the text.
“What... what is this?” Richard stammered, looking up at Ethan.
“That is the notice for the second mortgage on the house on Elm Street,” Ethan said, his voice cutting through the heavy air. “The house where I grew up. The house you told everyone you bought and paid for. Except, Richard, you didn’t pay for it. In 2008, when your real estate investments crashed and you were drowning in gambling debts, the bank was ready to throw us out into the street.”
I clutched the edge of the table. Memories I had buried deep rushed back to the surface. The sleepless nights. The constant calls from collection agencies. The way Richard would disappear for days at high-stakes poker games while I sat at the kitchen table, calculating how to stretch fifty dollars for groceries.
“You told me you handled it,” Richard muttered defensively, though his voice was barely a squeak. “You said the business bailout came through!”
“The bailout never came,” Ethan said, pulling a second document from the folder—a certified bank statement. “Mom didn’t tell you because she was trying to protect your fragile ego and keep a roof over my head. Do you know what she did, Richard? She didn't call your wealthy friends. She didn’t ask your family for a dime. She went to her elderly parents and watched them sign over the deed to their small retirement home in Evanston just to bail you out of your debts.”
A loud gasp echoed from my sister-in-law, Clara, who pressed her hands to her mouth.
“She sold her inheritance,” Ethan continued, stepping closer to the table, his gaze fixed on Richard. “She took on three night jobs while raising a toddler, typing legal briefs until four in the morning, while you drove around in a brand-new Mercedes that you leased with the last of her savings. You didn't pay for my upbringing, Richard. Mom paid for it with her youth, her parents' home, and her blood, sweat, and tears.”
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Richard staggered backward, his hip hitting the back of his chair, nearly knocking it over. “That... that’s impossible. She never said a word...”
“Because she loved you once, God help her,” Ethan said coldly. “And she wanted to protect me from knowing what a coward my biological father really was.”
