I thought about the brand-new boat I’d seen on his Instagram last summer. The ski trip to Aspen over New Year’s. The designer handbags Lillian collected like trophies.
But arguing about their spending habits would accomplish nothing.
“Your financial problems aren’t my responsibility,” I said simply. “Figure it out like everyone else does.”
He stared at me for a long moment, something shifting in his expression.
“You changed. You used to be the nice one, the one who went along with things to keep the peace. What happened to that person?”
“She got tired of being walked on.”
After Kenneth left, I called my aunt Beverly, Mom’s younger sister, who’d always been the black sheep of the family.
She’d moved to Arizona 15 years ago after a messy divorce and had minimal contact with my parents. We’d stayed in touch through occasional emails and phone calls.
“Jade, what a wonderful surprise,” Beverly’s warm voice filled my ear. “How are things?”
I told her everything. The entire story spilled out: Dad’s betrayal, Lillian’s entitlement, the legal battle, the dogs and chickens and band.
Beverly listened without interrupting until I finished.
“That absolute bastard,” she said finally, her voice tight with anger. “This is exactly the kind of thing your father pulled with me and your uncle James back in the9s. Did you know he convinced James to invest in some business venture, then backed out at the last minute, left James holding 50,000 in debt?”
I hadn’t known.
Nobody had ever talked about why Beverly and Uncle James had distanced themselves from the family.
“He plays favorites. Always has,” Beverly continued. “Your mom enables it because she’s afraid of conflict. And Lillian learned from the best. Take what you want and justify it by saying it’s for the kids.”
“I feel guilty,” I admitted. “Like I’m the one tearing the family apart.”
“Honey, you can’t tear apart something that was already broken. They’re mad because you stood up for yourself, and that disrupts the dynamic where you’re supposed to sacrifice for Lillian’s benefit. Good for you.”
We talked for another hour.
Beverly shared stories I’d never heard about growing up with Mom, about the patterns of manipulation that ran through the family like toxic roots.
By the time we hung up, I felt less alone in my decision.
Sunday brought another surprise.
A Facebook message from Veronica Hutchkins, the realtor Dad had brought to my house.
“Hi, Jade. I wanted to reach out privately to apologize for my pardon. What happened? Your father presented the situation very differently to me. He said you’d agreed to sell and were just being difficult about timing. I would never knowingly participate in pressuring someone to sell their home. I’ve since told your father I can’t work with him. I hope you’re doing okay.”
I stared at the message, reading it three times.
Dad had lied to the realtor, making me out to be the problem before I’d even known what was happening.
The manipulation ran deeper than I’d realized.
Monday morning, I returned to work for the first time since the crisis began.
My colleagues greeted me normally, unaware of the battle I’d been fighting. My boss, Patricia Reynolds, called me into her office midm morning.
“The advance on your bonus went through,” she said, studying my face with concern. “Is everything resolved with your family emergency?”
“Getting there,” I said carefully. “Thank you for helping with the advance. It made a huge difference.”
Patricia leaned back in her chair.
“I’ve worked with you for 6 years, Jade. You’re one of the most reliable people on this team. So, I’m going to say something as a friend, not just your supervisor. Whatever’s happening with your family, don’t let them make you feel small. You’ve built a good life for yourself. Protect it.”
The unexpected support made my throat tight.
“I am. That’s what the money was for. Protecting what’s mine.”
“Good. Now, ready to jump back into the Henderson campaign? They’re being difficult about the budget again.”
Work provided a welcome distraction.