Chapter 2

My bedding lay on the ground, spotted with mildew and piled up like filthy rags.

A wave of bitterness rose in my chest.

The damp season in my hometown lasted for months, and bedding that wasn't aired regularly always developed a heavy, moldy smell.

Every winter and summer break during college, I came home to find my room reeking of damp.

Ryan's blankets, meanwhile, were always soft, fluffy, and warm from the sun.

I had asked my mother about it more than once, and she always gave me the same answer.

"You chose the wrong room. Your window faces the shaded courtyard, so of course your blankets get moldy. Ryan was smart enough to pick the sunny room, so his bedding stays warm."

But I had never been allowed to choose. My room was simply the one left over.

I brought my heel down hard on the mildewed bedding.

"If it's garbage, then I don't want it."

I didn't want any of them either.

My mother's expression changed.

"How can you talk like that? Those are good quilts made from good cotton. I stitched them myself, and you don't have a grateful bone in your body!"

I laughed.

So I was ungrateful.

I had bought their television.

I had replaced their refrigerator.

I paid for the clothes they wore and the phones they used.

I even transferred a generous allowance to Ryan every month.

And somehow I was still the ungrateful one.

I wiped the tears from my cheeks.

"If this family has no room for me, then I won't come back again."

I turned to leave.

"Wait!"

My mother shouted after me.

"Ryan's girlfriend is coming the day after tomorrow. Aren't you friends with the owner of Harbor House? Reserve their fifteen-hundred-dollar seafood banquet for us. We can't let the girl's family think we're cheap!"

I stared at her as if she had lost her mind.

"If you want the dinner, make the reservation yourselves."

She choked.

"But you can get us a discount."

Discount was merely a polite way of saying they expected me to pay.

I took the luggage I had arrived with and walked away without looking back.

As I crossed the familiar apartment complex, uncertainty swept through me.

I worked in another state and had not been home in more than six months. I had taken leave so I could stay for several days, only to discover I no longer had a place there.

I sighed and checked into a hotel.

Early the next morning, the family group chat began chiming nonstop.

My mother posted a video.

"All ready for my future daughter-in-law. Do you think she'll like it?"

In the video, the wall between my room and Ryan's had been removed. A king-size canopy bed stood in the center, surrounded by pink stuffed animals, with a new walk-in closet beside it.

They had clearly put an enormous amount of thought into the renovation.

My old room had contained nothing but a bare wooden bed and a flimsy wardrobe Ryan had discarded.

I had expected the unfairness, but my heart still clenched.

Then I noticed a jewelry box in the corner of the video. Inside it lay an emerald bracelet.

My breath caught.

It was the only keepsake my grandmother had left me.

I immediately called my mother.

"Mom, move anything else you want, but don't touch the emerald bracelet Grandma left me."

She gave a scornful laugh.

"What do you mean, yours? That's the Goodman family heirloom. It goes to the family's future daughter-in-law."