Chapter 2

When I got home that night, I opened the drawer. The guarantee agreement was still there, with the amount left blank.

I left it where it was, sat down on the couch, and went over everything that had happened in the past five years.

The day Caroline came home from overseas, Stella and I drove to the airport to pick her up.

She came through the arrivals gate dragging her suitcase, spotted me in the crowd, and waved. "Gavin!"

She stayed with us that night. My son, Jake Knight, wouldn't leave her side.

At dinner, she poured me a drink, her eyes filling with tears. "Gavin, you have no idea what I've been through these past few years."

"Well, you're home now. That's what matters."

"If you ever need anything, just ask." She raised her glass. "I owe you and your family everything."

Stella wiped away her tears.

I believed her.

Caroline got a job at Eastbridge Corporation. For the first month, she came over every week.

By the second month, she only visited every other week.

After that, whenever I texted to ask if she wanted to come over for dinner, she replied, [Busy this week. Maybe another time.]

I always wrote back, [Alright.]

The next time I asked, it was the same excuse.

Over the course of that year, she told me "another time" 17 times.

When my restaurant ran into financial trouble, I finally swallowed my pride and asked her for help.

She answered with a cheerful laugh. "Hey, Gavin! What's up?"

I had to work up the nerve to explain why I was calling. Even then, I stumbled over the words.

She went quiet.

"It's not that I don't want to help," she said. "I just started this job, and money's tight. Once I get my year-end bonus, I promise you'll be the first person I help."

I told her I understood.

The end of the year came and went. She never mentioned the money again.

I called her again after New Year's.

"I put my whole bonus into a project," she said. "Just give me a little more time."

That little bit of time turned into another year.

Meanwhile, Caroline's life just kept getting better.

Her social media was full of cocktail parties, expensive jewelry, island vacations, and photos of her rubbing shoulders with wealthy, influential people. I didn't recognize a single one of them.

Then one day, I opened her profile and found that all her posts had disappeared. It took me a while to realize she had blocked me from seeing them.

I could still message her. I just couldn't see anything she posted.

I sent her a message telling her to take care of herself. She never replied.

When the anniversary of my parents' deaths came around, I wanted the family to get together for dinner.

I called Caroline a week in advance, but her assistant, Nancy Fletcher, answered.

"Ms. Fox has a meeting that day."

"It's the anniversary of our parents' deaths," I said, emphasizing every word.

"I know." She paused. "Ms. Fox asked me to tell you she can't make it."

Then she hung up.

Half an hour later, my phone buzzed with a notification. Caroline had transferred 500 dollars to my account.

The note simply said, [Thinking of you.]

I sent every penny back.

She never asked why. She never called again, either.

Eventually, she got promoted and bought herself a car.

Whenever she visited our hometown, she rarely stayed longer than half a day.

The neighbors would say, "Your sister's really made something of herself, huh? That's a pretty nice car she's driving."

One day, I ran into her on the street back home and called out, "Caroline!"

She stopped in her tracks. After a moment, she finally said, "Gavin."

She sounded like even acknowledging me was a chore.

I invited her over for dinner, but she just glanced at her watch.

"Maybe next time."

That next time never came. Another two years passed.

At a relative's wedding, she sat at one of the tables closest to the newlyweds.

I walked over with my glass. "Caroline."

"Mm-hmm." She barely looked at me.

Before I could say anything else, she turned to the woman beside her. "We're not actually that close. We just lived in the same neighborhood growing up."

The woman laughed. "Well, that's nice of you, making time for him anyway."

Everyone at the table laughed.

My hand trembled, spilling wine all over my fingers.

I forced a smile, backed away, and returned to my own table.

I had heard plenty of things like that over the years.

Someone told me Caroline had been telling people she didn't have any family left back home.

Someone else said that whenever she mentioned us to her coworkers, she called us her poor relatives.

At first, hearing those things made my blood boil. Once, I got so angry I smashed a glass.

Eventually, I couldn't even be bothered to get mad anymore.

On nights like those, I would pull out our old family photos.

There was one taken at the airport the day she left to study abroad. She had her arms wrapped around me and was trembling from crying so hard.

On the back, she wrote, [Gavin, I'll take care of you for the rest of your life.]

I would run my fingers over those words and make excuses for her.

She was just busy. She still cared about me. Surely she hadn't forgotten her promise.

Then I would put the photo back at the bottom of the box and close the drawer.

Every "maybe next time," that 500-dollar transfer, the way she told a table full of people we barely knew each other. I swallowed it all and kept making excuses for her.

It wasn't until Jake ended up in the hospital that I finally saw Caroline for who she really was.

I spent years overlooking the way she treated me, and she never had any intention of making things right.