Chapter 3

The next morning, I called my mother.

"Ava? What is it now?" she answered, her voice already tired of me.

"I' ve been thinking about what you said last night," I began, making my voice sound hesitant and a little sad. "About me being a downer, and not being able to afford the trip."

"Well, it' s the truth, dear," she said, not unkindly, but with the finality of a judge passing sentence. "It' s just not practical."

"I know," I said. "But I really, really want to be there for Chloe. I feel so terrible that we' ve drifted apart. I want to make it up to her, to all of you."

I heard her sigh. "Ava, there' s nothing to be done."

This was my moment. I took a deep breath.

"What if... what if I paid for my own way?" I started.

"We' ve been over this. The kind of places we' re staying..."

"No, you don' t understand," I interrupted, letting a note of desperation creep in. "I don' t mean just my share. I mean, what if I paid for the whole trip? Everything. The gas, the five-star hotels you mentioned, all the meals, the shopping... everything. My treat."

The line went completely silent. I could picture her on the other end, her perfectly made-up face frozen in shock. The concept was so alien, so outside the established order of our family, that she probably couldn't process it. Me, the perpetually broke artist, offering to fund their luxury vacation.

"Where would you get that kind of money?" she finally asked, her voice sharp with suspicion.

"I sold a few paintings," I lied smoothly. "A collector saw my work online and bought a whole series. It was a... a significant amount." It was a plausible lie; I did occasionally sell pieces, just never for that much money.

The silence stretched on. Greed was at war with suspicion in her mind. I knew greed would win. It always did with my parents.

"The whole trip?" she asked, the words barely a whisper.

"Every last cent," I confirmed. "I want to do this for you. For the family. Please, let me do this."

I heard muffled voices in the background. She was talking to my father. I could imagine the conversation perfectly. Richard, ever the opportunist, would see nothing but dollar signs. A free luxury vacation? It was his dream come true.

My mother came back on the line, her voice completely transformed. It was now warm, dripping with affection.

"Oh, Ava, honey," she cooed. "That is the sweetest, most generous offer I have ever heard. We had no idea you were doing so well with your art. We' re so proud of you!"

The hypocrisy was so thick it was almost funny.

"So... I can come?" I asked, playing the part of the hopeful daughter.

"Of course you can come!" she exclaimed. "We wouldn' t dream of having it any other way. We' ll be a real family again."

Even Chloe, when my mother passed the phone to her, was grudgingly compliant. The lure of a fully-funded shopping spree was too powerful for her to resist.

"Fine," she said. "But you' re not getting a free ride. If you' re coming, you' re making yourself useful."

I arrived at their house later that day to "finalize the plans." The atmosphere was entirely different. They welcomed me with smiles. My mother had even baked cookies, something she hadn't done for me in over a decade.

They sat me down on their plush sofa while they laid out their demands, framing them as a list of my "responsibilities."

"You' ll do all the driving, of course," my father said, leaning back in his armchair. "My nerves aren' t what they used to be, and Sarah needs to be available to attend to Chloe."

"And you' ll handle all the luggage," my mother added. "We can' t have Chloe straining herself."

"I' ll need snacks at all times," Chloe piped in from the other sofa, where she was surrounded by cushions. "And not gas station junk. I' ll give you a list. And you' ll need to make sure my water bottle is always full. The filtered kind, not tap."

The list went on. I was to be their chauffeur, their porter, their personal shopper, their maid. I was to be on call 24/7 for Chloe' s every whim. I was to be silent unless spoken to. And, most importantly, I was to pay for everything without complaint.

I listened to it all, a placid, agreeable expression on my face. With each new demand, each fresh humiliation, the cold, hard knot of vengeance in my gut grew tighter. They saw my money, but they didn't see me. They saw a walking ATM, a servant they didn't have to pay.

When they were finally finished, I looked up at them, my eyes wide with fake gratitude.

"Of course," I said, my voice soft. "Anything for my family. Thank you. Thank you so much for letting me be a part of this."

They beamed, completely satisfied. They had their money, their control, their scapegoat. They thought they had everything.

I smiled back at them, a genuine smile this time. They had no idea that by accepting my offer, they had just handed me the keys to their gilded cage. And I was going to lock them inside and throw away the key.