PART 14 – Sebastian Finally Asked What My Work Was Worth, but His Question Came After Years of Laughing at What I Did

A few days later, Sebastian called.

I was finishing a project when his name appeared on my screen.

I answered.

“Hey.”

He sounded hesitant.

“Are you busy?”

“A little.”

“Can I ask you something?”

I saved my work.

“Go ahead.”

He asked how much I actually earned from my online campaigns.

I was surprised.

“Why?”

“I'm just asking.”

I waited.

He explained that Dad had been talking about the payments.

Apparently, our father was still trying to understand how I had managed to make them regularly.

I told Sebastian that my income varied.

Some months were better than others.

Some clients paid more than others.

He asked whether I had enough money to cover the apartment.

I told him I did.

There was a long pause.

Then he said:

“I didn't realize you were making that much.”

I leaned back in my chair.

“You never asked.”

“I know.”

He sounded uncomfortable.

I remembered him laughing at my computer.

I remembered the air quotes.

I remembered the way he had described my work during Christmas dinner.

I didn't repeat any of it.

He already knew.

Or at least, he should have.

“Dad said you were paying every month.”

“Yes.”

“That's a lot of money.”

“It was.”

He went quiet.

Then he asked whether I had been saving anything for myself.

I looked toward the small window.

“Not as much as I should have.”

He didn't answer.

I could almost hear him thinking.

For years, Sebastian had assumed that I had an easier life because I worked from home.

He hadn't seen the hours.

He hadn't seen the deadlines.

He hadn't seen the payments leaving my account.

I wasn't expecting him to understand everything in one conversation.

But I appreciated that he had finally asked.

He apologized again for laughing at me.

This time, I accepted the apology.

I didn't promise everything would return to normal.

I simply told him I appreciated hearing it.

Later that day, my father called.

He said he had been organizing the household records.

He wanted to compare the receipts I had kept with the documents he had found.

I agreed.

We arranged to speak again.

I didn't offer to send money.

He didn't ask.

That was important.

For once, the conversation was about understanding what had happened rather than finding someone to cover the next payment.

That evening, I opened the blue folder.

I looked at the thirty-six confirmations.

The reference numbers were still clear.

I remembered why I had kept them.

I had believed I was protecting my parents from a banking problem.

Now I understood that I had also been protecting myself from forgetting what I had done.

I put the folder away.

Then I returned to my computer.

My next campaign was due the following morning.

I worked until I finished it.

And when I finally closed the laptop, I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time.

Proud.

Click here to continue reading: PART 15: My Mother Wanted the Family to Return to Normal, but Normal Had Been Built on Things Nobody Was Allowed to Question