That night, the massive red bow on the hood of the new BMW looked less like a gift and more like a beautifully tied curse. My sister received a German engineering marvel, while I got an envelope so thin it was embarrassing. Inside were exactly two single dollar bills—a gentle slap to my dignity. I did not scream. I simply walked out into the snow. And at two in the morning, I blocked every single one of them.
My name is Chloe Allen, and for the last fourteen years, I have existed as a piece of office furniture in the lives of my own family. I was thirty-four years old, standing in the manicured driveway of my father’s sprawling estate in Brier Glenn, watching snow fall on a scene that looked like it had been staged for a holiday luxury car commercial. The air was biting, the kind of cold that slips through wool coats and settles into your bones, but the temperature was nothing compared to the absolute zero emanating from the people standing around me.
Brier Glenn is the sort of town where neighbors judge you by the landscaping crew you hire and the vintage of the wine you serve at casual Tuesday dinners. It is a place of performative happiness, and tonight, the Caldwell family was putting on the performance of a lifetime.
I stood slightly off to the side. Naturally, that was my spot. I was the reliable one, the practical one, the one who knew the alarm codes, the one who scheduled the gutter cleaning, the one who reminded my father, Gordon, to take his cholesterol medication, and the one who balanced the household ledgers because my stepmother, Tessa, treated bank accounts like infinite magic wells. I was the logistics manager of their chaotic, glossy lives. I was the person you called when the toilet overflowed, not the person you toasted with champagne. And tonight, the champagne was flowing because my half-sister, Belle, had just turned twenty-four.
The double oak doors of the garage swung open with a theatrical groan. My father stepped out, his face flushed with brandy and pride, gesturing grandly to the driveway where the object of everyone’s affection sat idling. It was a brand new BMW X5, sleek and black, sitting there like a crouching panther. But the pièce de résistance was the red bow. It was massive, velvety, and tied with a perfection that bordered on aggressive. It sat on the hood of that car like a crown.
Belle shrieked. It was a sound that pierced the winter silence, a high-pitched vibration of pure entitlement. She brought her hands to her mouth, feigning shock, though I knew for a fact she had texted Tessa links to this exact model three weeks ago. She ran out into the snow in her heels, not caring about the ice, and threw her arms around Gordon’s neck. Tessa was right there snapping photos with her phone, the flash illuminating the falling snowflakes like strobe lights. Neighbors who had been invited for the spectacle clapped. It was nauseatingly perfect.
I clapped, too. My hands were gloved, so the sound was muffled, dull. I watched Belle slide into the driver’s seat, inhaling the smell of new leather. She revved the engine, and the aggressive purr of the machine seemed to say, I deserve this.
Then the attention shifted. The performance had a second act.
Gordon cleared his throat, holding up a hand to quiet the small crowd. He turned his eyes toward me. There was a glint in them that I had seen before, usually right before he critiqued my choice of career or my lack of a husband.
“And for Chloe,” he announced, his voice booming with a jovial generosity that didn’t reach his eyes. “We didn’t forget you, sweetheart. We know you are the practical one, the grounded one.”
Tessa stepped forward, a tight smile plastered on her face, and handed me an envelope. It was white, standard business size, and terrifyingly thin. It felt weightless in my hand. For a split second, a foolish, hopeful part of my brain thought it might be a check. Maybe they were finally acknowledging the thousands of hours of unpaid labor I had poured into keeping their lives afloat. Maybe it was a down payment on an apartment so I could finally move out of the guest cottage I had been guilted into staying in to be close to family.
I tore the flap open. There was no check. There was no gift card. Inside the envelope were two crisp green bills. Two dollars.
I stared at George Washington’s face. I blinked, thinking I had missed something. That perhaps there was a hidden compartment in the paper. But no, it was just two single dollar bills.
“We wanted to give you something symbolic,” Gordon said, his voice dropping to a register that sounded like he was imparting great wisdom. “Belle needs a little help getting started. But you, Chloe, you are steady. But sometimes we feel you take the support we give you for granted. This is to remind you of the value of a dollar. You have to earn your way in this world. Chloe, nothing is free.”
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