Chapter 3

It was well past midnight by the time I got home. When I turned on the lights, the apartment was silent.

After the way the party had ended,

I'd assumed Chloe's temper would keep her away from home, but to my surprise, she was sitting alone in the living room.

Several half-eaten takeout containers were piled beside the coffee table, all filled with the greasy junk food I usually wouldn't let her eat.

Bits of plaster were scattered near the front door.

This was an old apartment building, and the walls had been cracked and peeling for years.

I'd bought tools and patched the damaged areas little by little.

But the problems underneath had never disappeared. Smoothing the surface only made it look whole.

Any pressure would make the plaster crumble again.

It was just like the relationship between Chloe and me. I'd thought that if I gave her all the love I had,

I could make up for the affection she'd never received from her father.

But in the end, my devotion had been destroyed, and I'd watched her push me into the abyss.

I had just stepped toward her to speak when she cut me off.

"Go away. You're so annoying. I don't want to talk to a money-hoarding miser!"

As Chloe headed toward her bedroom, she threw something at me with all her strength.

By the time I focused enough to see what it was, the plastic container had already flipped in midair. It struck my shoulder, and the lid popped off.

Sour, rancid broth poured down my collar. Congealed grease clung to my skin, and the room filled with the stench of spoiled food.

I pressed my lips together and stood frozen as the filthy liquid dripped onto the floor, forming a small puddle around my feet.

The ceiling light flickered, splitting and rejoining the reflections on the floor.

I looked at the closed bedroom door, and grief rose inside me.

I knocked. "Chloe, open the door. We need to talk."

Her muffled, furious voice came from beneath the blankets. "I have nothing to say to you! All you care about is money!

"You don't care about me at all! Go spend the rest of your life with your precious bank account!

"I hate you! I hate you!"

"Fine. Keep sulking, then."

After saying that, I turned to wash the grease off my body.

Some broth had splashed into my eyes, and the burning was intense. Tears ran down my face without my permission.

But I hadn't wanted to cry.

A loud bang sounded behind me. I turned around.

Chloe stood in the doorway, seething.

The door had slammed into the wall, bounced back, and struck her knee.

The impact shook more plaster loose from the ceiling. It fell in diseased-looking chunks.

Through the dust, I looked at my child, who was glaring at me with bloodshot eyes.

"Are you buying it for me or not?"

"I can't. We don't have that kind of money."

"Every dollar I had available went toward your graduation gifts, but you haven't even..."

"What did you buy me?"

"The newest phone, tablet, laptop, and earbuds you wanted. A trip to Hawaii. The classes you said you wanted to take..." I listed the gifts I'd prepared for her one by one.

With every item I named, Chloe unraveled further.

"Actually, I had everything returned tonight. Since your heart is so completely set on that house, I assumed none of those things would..."

Before I could finish, Chloe lost control. She grabbed anything within reach and smashed it.

After destroying the room, she turned on me. "Why? You already bought me all that stuff, so why won't you buy me the house?"

She lunged forward and grabbed my arm. "Mom, please. Just buy it for me!

"You were going to help me move into a better place after college anyway. This is only four years early."

I looked at Chloe sobbing beside me like a child throwing a tantrum over candy. After a pause, I asked,

"Chloe, first tell me why you want this house so badly."

"If I tell you, will you buy it?"

"No. Not now, and not later. I'm never buying you a house." I rejected her unreasonable demand without hesitation.

Her expression darkened instantly. She grabbed the guitar from her room and used it to wreck whatever remained.

Then she shrieked at me, "Dad said you had $750,000 in savings! He said all your money belongs to me!"

"If it's my money, why can't I use it to buy a house?"

"If you won't even buy me a home, why did you fight Dad for custody in the first place?"

I took a deep breath, forcing down the tightness in my chest, and met her eyes in disbelief. "Your father was at fault in the divorce, so the court gave me custody and most of what little savings remained. But that money was spent raising you years ago. There was never $750,000. It was $75,000.

"Your father couldn't come up with $750,000 even if he sold everything he owns."

Her eyes burned with open resentment. "Poor people shouldn't have children. Why did you give birth to me if you couldn't afford me?

"No wonder Dad couldn't stand you and divorced you. Someone like you doesn't deserve to be loved."

After cursing me, she dragged out a suitcase, ran from the apartment, and slammed the door behind her.

I stood alone in the wreckage, my eyes burning with tears.