Chapter 3

A few days later, Sarah announced that the family needed to have a "Last Supper" of sorts.

"The world as we know it is ending," she said dramatically over dinner. "We should have one last, perfect meal at the fanciest restaurant in town. A final celebration of the old world before we retreat to our new life."

My parents, already deep in the delusion, thought this was a wonderful idea. My father had already met with a real estate agent and was talking about how much equity they had in the house. The thought of that money seemed to have loosened his inhibitions.

"We deserve it," my mother agreed, her eyes shining. "A night to remember."

They booked a table at 'La Perle', a restaurant so expensive that we had only ever walked past it, staring at the menu in the window.

The plan was for Saturday night. On Friday, I went to my boss at the small accounting firm where I worked as a junior associate.

"Mr. Henderson," I said, putting on my most earnest expression. "I know it's last minute, but a huge project just landed on my desk. I'd love to get a head start on it over the weekend. Would it be okay if I came into the office tomorrow to work?"

Mr. Henderson, a kind, elderly man who was impressed by my work ethic, beamed at me. "Lily, that's the kind of initiative I love to see! Of course, you can. The building will be open."

That night at home, I broke the news. "I'm so sorry," I said, my voice dripping with fake disappointment. "I can't make it to the big dinner tomorrow. I have to work."

Sarah scoffed. "Work? Lily, the world is ending and you're worried about spreadsheets?"

"Some of us have responsibilities," I said quietly, a line I had heard my parents use against me a hundred times.

My mother looked disappointed. "Oh, Lily. It's a family night."

"I know, and I feel terrible," I lied. "But this project... it could lead to a promotion. The timing is just awful."

The word "promotion" worked like a charm. My parents' dream for me was a stable, boring career, something that would never outshine Sarah's "special gifts." They reluctantly agreed it was a sensible decision. Secretly, I think they were relieved. My quiet, observant presence often acted as a subtle buzzkill to their frantic fantasies.

So on Saturday night, while they were dressing up in their finest clothes to go blow a thousand dollars on a meal they couldn't afford, I was sitting in my quiet, empty office. I wasn't working on a project. I was on my laptop, researching job openings in other states.

I remembered the last time they had gone on a spending spree like this. It was after Sarah' s soap business failed. To "cheer her up," they had taken her on a weekend trip to a luxury spa, maxing out a credit card. I had just lost my part-time college job and asked for a small loan of two hundred dollars to buy textbooks. My father had told me to "tighten my belt" and "learn the value of a dollar."

The injustice of it still felt like a raw wound. Tonight, they weren't just spending money. They were burning their future, and I was miles away, happily pouring the fuel.

Around ten o'clock, my phone buzzed. It was a text from my mother. It was a picture of a massive seafood tower, glistening with oysters and lobster claws. The caption read: Thinking of you! Wish you were here to enjoy this! XOXO Mom.

I stared at the picture. They were eating their nest egg, one overpriced shrimp at a time. I felt a surge of something cold and satisfying. I typed back: Looks amazing! Have fun! Then I put my phone on silent.

An hour later, another buzz. This time it was a frantic call from my dad. I ignored it. A few minutes later, a text.

Dad: Lily, call me. It's an emergency.

I let the text sit for ten minutes before I called back.

"Lily!" he answered on the first ring, his voice a panicked whisper. "We have a problem."

"What's wrong?" I asked, feigning concern. "Is everyone okay?"

"We're fine, but... the card was declined."

I knew it. They had been living so close to their credit limit for years. This dinner was the final push over the edge.

"The main credit card," he continued, his voice tight with humiliation. "Sarah... she ordered the most expensive bottle of champagne. To 'toast the end.' And now we can't pay the bill. It's over a thousand dollars."

I could hear the clatter of dishes and the murmur of other diners in the background. I could picture him, huddled in a corner by the restaurant's kitchen, trying to hide his shame.

"What about your debit card?" I asked, knowing the answer.

"Not enough in the checking account," he hissed. "Sarah bought a whole new 'apocalypse wardrobe' online this afternoon. She said we needed clothes that could withstand 'biohazard contaminants'."

Of course she did.

"What do you want me to do, Dad?" I asked.

There was a long pause. "Lily... could you... could you transfer some money to my account? From your savings? Just until the house sale goes through. I'll pay you back, I promise."

This was the moment. My chance to be the hero, the savior. The responsible daughter who bails her family out of their self-inflicted disaster. It was what I had always done.

"Dad," I said, my voice flat and cold. "I can't. I have student loans, remember? And I have to pay my rent. I don't have that kind of money just sitting around."

It was a lie. I had been saving diligently for years, a secret nest egg they knew nothing about.

"Lily, please," he begged. "They're going to call the police. We'll be humiliated."

"I'm sorry, Dad. I can't help you."

I could hear Sarah' s voice in the background, loud and indignant. "What is taking so long? Just pay them! Tell them who I am!"

My father let out a choked sound, a mixture of anger and despair. "Fine," he bit out. "Just... fine." He hung up.

I sat there in the silent office, the city lights twinkling outside the window. I imagined the scene at the restaurant. The manager's polite but firm demeanor. My mother' s flushed face. Sarah' s inevitable tantrum. And my father, having to make the most humiliating phone call of his life-not to me, but to his own elderly mother, my grandmother, begging for a loan to pay for a lobster dinner. He would have to explain why his credit cards were maxed out, and the whole sordid story of Sarah's prophecy would come tumbling out.

A slow, bitter laugh escaped my lips. This was so much better than being the hero. This was vengeance.