When I reached the bottom of the stairs, everyone was still in the dining room.
The plates hadn't been cleared.
The glasses were still on the table.
My father looked up first.
He noticed the suitcase.
“Well, you took that seriously.”
I stopped near the doorway.
“I did.”
Sebastian reached for his phone.
He looked more entertained than surprised.
“Wait a second.”
He raised the camera.
“I want to get this.”
I looked at him.
“What are you doing?”
He grinned.
“Recording the big departure.”
My mother glanced at him.
“Sebastian, don't.”
He ignored her.
“This is going to be funny.”
I didn't ask him to put the phone away.
I didn't argue.
There was no reason to give him another reaction to enjoy.
I put on my coat.
Then I adjusted the strap of my purse.
The blue folder was inside.
I could feel its edge against the other things I had packed.
My mother stood near the table.
She looked uncomfortable.
For a moment, I thought she might come over and say something meaningful.
Instead, she remained where she was.
I walked toward her.
I leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
Her skin felt cold.
“Merry Christmas, Mom.”
She didn't answer immediately.
“Chloe…”
I stepped back.
I didn't know what she wanted to say.
I wasn't sure she knew either.
I turned toward my father.
He was still sitting in his chair.
I looked at him for a moment.
“Thank you for making it clear that I need to stand on my own.”
He nodded.
“You'll understand one day.”
I almost smiled.
“Maybe.”
Sebastian raised his glass.
He was still holding his phone.
“Good luck paying rent with those internet jobs.”
I looked at him.
He was enjoying himself.
I didn't tell him how much I earned.
I didn't explain the campaign I had delivered that morning.
I didn't tell him that the apartment was already arranged.
I simply turned toward the front door.
My hand rested on the handle.
I had imagined leaving that house many times.
In some of those imagined moments, I had been angry.
In others, I had cried.
Sometimes I had pictured myself telling everyone exactly what I thought of them.
But now there was none of that.
I just wanted to go.
I opened the door.
The cold air reached me immediately.
Outside, the street was decorated for Christmas.
There were lights along the houses.
Somewhere nearby, people were celebrating.
I could hear music and occasional fireworks.
I stepped onto the front path.
My suitcase moved behind me.
One step.
Then another.
I was almost at the end of the path when I heard a chair scrape across the floor.
Then my mother shouted.
“Chloe!”
I stopped.
I turned around.
Rebecca was coming toward me.
She was moving quickly.
Her expression had changed completely.
The nervous smile she had worn during dinner was gone.
She looked frightened.
She reached me and grabbed my arm.
“You can't leave like this.”
I looked down at her hand.
Then at her face.
“Why not?”
She seemed unable to answer.
“We need to talk.”
“We can talk tomorrow.”
“No.”
Her voice was sharper than before.
She looked toward the house.
Then back at me.
“Not tomorrow.”
My father appeared behind her.
He had left his chair.
“Rebecca, let her go.”
My mother didn't turn around.
“Arthur, please.”
Dad looked at me.
“She made her decision. We shouldn't force her to stay.”
I almost found that funny.
Only a few minutes earlier, he had been the person telling me to leave.
Now he was pretending this was a simple matter of personal choice.
My mother tightened her grip.
I gently pulled my arm.
“What is it, Mom?”
She swallowed.
Her eyes moved toward the house again.
Then she looked at me.
“What's going to happen next month?”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
She hesitated.
I waited.
She looked as if she were trying to find a way to ask the question without saying it directly.
Then she spoke.
“Who will make the mortgage payment?”
For a moment, I didn't understand what I had heard.
The words seemed to hang between us.
I looked at her.
Then at my father.
Sebastian had come to the doorway.
His phone was no longer raised.
My father blinked.
“What mortgage?”
My mother released my arm.
“Arthur…”
He stepped closer.
“What are you talking about?”
She didn't answer.
He looked confused.
Then his expression hardened.
“Our house has been paid off for years.”
I stood completely still.
There it was.
The question I had been avoiding for months.
The thing I had never wanted to ask because I had trusted my mother.
My father looked from her to me.
Then his eyes fell on my purse.
The blue folder was partly visible.
I could see him noticing it.
“Chloe?”
His voice had changed.
“What is happening here?”
I opened my purse.
My mother immediately shook her head.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“What do you mean, no?”
She stepped toward me.
“Please. Not tonight.”
I looked at the house behind her.
At the Christmas decorations.
At the dining table where they had just told me I needed to leave.
Then I looked back at her.
“You chose tonight.”
I pulled out the folder.
My father reached for it.
He took it from my hands before my mother could say anything else.
“Arthur, wait.”
He opened the cover.
The first page was a bank statement.
He turned it over.
There was another receipt.
Then another.
He began reading.
I watched his expression change.
At first, he looked puzzled.
Then he became serious.
He turned another page.
And another.
The dining room had gone quiet.
Sebastian stepped farther into the doorway.
“What is all this?”
Nobody answered him.
My father looked up at me.
“Did you make these payments?”
I didn't respond immediately.
He held up one of the confirmations.
“Chloe, I'm asking you.”
I looked at my mother.
“Ask her why she told me not to discuss any of this with you.”
My mother's face tightened.
“That's not what happened.”
I didn't argue.
I didn't need to.
The papers were in his hands.
Sebastian finally put his phone down.
“Can somebody explain what's going on?”
Dad continued turning through the receipts.
Then he stopped.
He went back to the beginning.
He brought the first page closer to the dining room light.
He read it once.
Then he read it again.
His fingers remained fixed on the paper.
He didn't move.
I watched him slowly raise his eyes toward my mother.
For the first time that evening, my father looked genuinely frightened.
And I knew that whatever he had just found on that first page was something my mother had never wanted him to see.
Click here to continue reading: PART 5: The First Receipt Changed My Father’s Expression, and My Mother Could No Longer Pretend the Money Had Never Existed
The Christmas Gift That Made Me Realize I Had Never Been Seen the Way I Thought I Was
Part 4 of 20
