Parents Gave Her 80K Dollars Only 8K For Me

Three days after graduation, I stumbled across a post my mother, Laura Ashford, had put up in a local parents' Facebook group.

"Both my twin daughters are heading to Newland University. What's the fair way to split their allowances?"

The comments were nearly unanimous.

"Obviously give them the same amount. Both kids are leaving home for the first time. Fairness is simple math."

I was about to scroll past when I spotted my brother Derek Ashford's profile picture beside the latest reply.

"People who don't know the full picture shouldn't be lecturing about fairness."

"The older one is quiet and awkward. She doesn't wear makeup, socialize, or go to parties. Three hundred a month will be more than enough once she moves into a shared apartment. The younger one is outgoing and pretty. She needs clothes, a social life, and rideshares. She needs at least three thousand a month."

"Besides, the older one already knows how to cook. They'll both be at Newland, so she can look after her sister on the side. Mom and Dad will save on meal costs too."

Downstairs, I heard Derek and his childhood friend, Shane Bennett, laughing.

"Three hundred is already a lot," Derek said. "Nora won't even buy herself a coffee. Give her money and it just sits in the account."

Shane chimed in with a laugh. "She can't survive without the family. Even in college, she'll just follow us around."

They said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I gripped the mouse. My fingertips went cold, one degree at a time.

So every coffee I skipped wasn't me saving money. It was proof I only deserved three hundred.

So learning to cook wasn't a skill. It was a free service they'd lined up for Ella long ago.

I stared at the screen.

We lived in the suburbs of Newland.

Newland University sat in the heart of the East Coast's busiest district, hemmed in by financial firms, theaters, and high-rises.

Ella and I had both received acceptance letters from Newland University.

The two letters arrived on the same day.

When my father, Michael Ashford, opened Ella's, he scooped her up and spun her around. Mom immediately snapped a photo and posted it in every family group chat.

When it was my turn, Derek barely glanced at the letter.

"Not bad. You'll be right there with your sister. You two can look out for each other."

Mom was busy ordering a celebration cake and didn't even look up.

"Your sister's so bubbly. She's bound to run into sketchy people in a big city. Nora, keep an eye on her. Don't let anyone take advantage of her."

My acceptance letter ended up pinned under the cake catalog, only a corner with my name peeking out.

That night, the cake had only Ella's name on it.

So the whole family assumed that come fall, we would move into that two-bedroom apartment together and I would cook for Ella, do her laundry, and clean up after her parties.

They didn't know I had received another acceptance letter, from a school twenty-seven hundred miles away.

Lakecrest Institute of Technology was on the West Coast, in the coastal city of Lakecrest. It was one of the hardest engineering schools to get into in the country.

Lakecrest Tech hadn't just accepted me. They'd covered four years of tuition, housing, and a research stipend.

At the bottom of the acceptance page were two buttons.

"Decline Admission."

"Confirm Enrollment."

I clicked the second one.

When the confirmation email appeared, for the first time I wasn't thinking about what I needed to do to win their approval.

I just wanted to see whether they could still act this entitled when they found out I wasn't going to Newland University and wasn't going to be Ella's unpaid nanny anymore.

...

"Nora, come out here."

Mom knocked twice and pushed the door open without waiting for an answer.

The living room was piled with department store bags. Ella sat on the carpet, sorting through graduation presents.

"I ordered Ella the latest laptop and a designer bag." Mom smiled at her. "And Dad's sending you on a graduation trip to Europe. How does that sound?"

Ella threw her arms around her.

"You're the best mom in the whole world!"

Dad tossed the car keys to Derek.

"We're going to Bay Park tonight. Ella wants to ride the Ferris wheel by the water. Everyone go change."

My heart gave a small jump.

"Am I going too?"

Everyone turned to look at me at the same time, as if they'd only just remembered someone else was in the room.

Mom recovered quickly with a smile.

"Of course. Today is about both you and Ella."

Then she pushed a battered old laptop across the table to me.

"This is Ella's old one. She replaced it last year. You need one for college too, right? Wipe it down and it'll be fine."

A sticker Ella had only half peeled off was still stuck to the back.

I reached out and touched the crack on the casing.

That promise that the day was about both of us suddenly felt like a single drop of water falling into an empty glass. One small ring, and then silence.

I went to my room and changed into the pale-yellow dress Shane had given me the year before, then dabbed on a little lip gloss.

Maybe they just weren't good at showing it.

Maybe this time, they really did mean to include me.

Ten minutes later, I opened my door.

The living room and the garage were both empty.

Derek's five-passenger SUV was gone.

Dad, Mom, Derek, Ella, and Shane. Five people exactly.

My name had never been on the seating chart.

I called Mom.

In the background, music played on the car radio beneath Ella's laughter.

"You already left?"

"You're still home? You never came out of your room, so we figured you didn't want to go again." Mom sounded puzzled. "The sunset Ferris wheel has a reservation time. Why don't you just get here on your own?"

Getting from our house to Bay Park meant two bus transfers and almost two hours each way.

"Nobody told me what time we were leaving."

A beat of silence on the other end.

Mom's voice turned impatient.

"Nora, you're eighteen years old. You can't wait for someone to arrange everything for you. Just look it up on a map."

Ella called out in the background. "Mom, we're going to be late for our dinner reservation!"

"Fine, just order takeout," Mom said. "Use your own card. You're an adult now."

The line went dead.

I stood in the foyer and looked at myself in the mirror, all dressed up, then suddenly laughed.

The lip gloss was bright. The skirt was pressed without a single wrinkle.

I'd even fully charged my phone in case they needed someone to take the group photos.

Mine were the only shoes left by the door.

When I was little and we played hide-and-seek, they'd left me counting in the basement while the four of them drove off for ice cream.

Back then, I waited until dark, convinced that if I was obedient enough, they would always come back for me.

Now, I was done waiting.