Mrs. Abbott's house had been marked for demolition, and the family was splitting eight million dollars in compensation. She said it would be divided based on each person's contribution to the household.

So Bertram James, who'd bought the family an air conditioner, walked away with four million.

Adeline James, who'd bought a washing machine, got one million.

Even Lucius James, whose grand contribution was a hair dryer, scored three million.

And me? The son-in-law who'd held this family together for twenty-five years?

I got a rolling pin.

Mrs. Abbott leaned back in her wheelchair. "If there are no objections, go ahead and sign."

I didn't move. The three of them, the ones with money coming their way, all turned to look at me.

I looked at Mrs. Abbott. My voice came out quiet.

"Mom, why?"

"Why what?"

"Why isn't there a share for me?"

She frowned, but her tone was matter-of-fact, like the answer should have been obvious.

"One, you haven't contributed anything to this family."

"Two, you're an outsider."

Something seized in my chest. I stood there for a long time, unable to speak.

Finally, I set down the rolling pin. Untied my apron. Said one word.

"Fine."

——

Mrs. Abbott sat half-paralyzed in her wheelchair. Beneath her was the wormwood and dried tangerine peel cushion I'd sewn for her by hand.

Bertram sat to her left, head down, scrolling through his phone.

Adeline sat to her right, kneading Mrs. Abbott's feet and massaging her legs, glancing up at me every now and then.

Lucius was the most eager of all, his fingers flying across his phone screen. The corners of his mouth twitched with a barely suppressed smile.

I stood in the kitchen doorway, looking at the three of them. It felt like a stone had been dropped on my chest.

The old house had finally been demolished.

But I never expected it to end like this.

Mrs. Abbott glanced at me. Not a trace of guilt.

"Taking care of the family, looking after the younger ones, that was supposed to be my eldest daughter's responsibility." Her voice was flat, rehearsed. "But she died giving birth to your child. You owe it to her to carry that burden. Besides, you're on your own now. There's no reason for you to fight over this with the others."

"Now go make dinner. Everyone's hungry."

The three of them went back to what they were doing. Nobody said a word.

I looked down at the rolling pin I'd used for twenty-five years. The whole thing had been worn smooth and glossy, but the middle had caved in slightly, warped from use.

My chest went cold, like something inside me had frozen solid.

I draped the apron over the back of a chair, poured myself a glass of water, drank it, set it down, and walked toward the front door.

Mrs. Abbott's voice sharpened with urgency. "You're not making dinner? Where are you going?"

My throat was still tight. "I need some air."

I'd barely reached the doorway when Lucius called out behind me.

I stopped. Turned around.

His eyes were bright, practically sparkling with excitement.

"Tom Delgado, you haven't signed yet. Sign first before you go."

I was nineteen years older than Lucius. I'd raised him from infancy. Those years had been brutal.

But whenever I saw that bright, innocent smile of his, the exhaustion and the hardship would fade away.

Not anymore. His smile couldn't warm the cold that had settled in my bones.

"I'm not getting any money," I said. "I don't need to sign. You three signing is enough."

Lucius blinked at me with those wide, guileless eyes. "That won't do. You should at least write a statement giving up your claim to the demolition money."

The most educated one in the family, and it showed. He thought of things the others didn't.

I didn't move. "Does it matter whether I write it or not?"

Bertram stood up.

"Tom, this is Mom's decision. Don't tell me you're upset with her."

Was I upset? Not really. Not in a way I could name.

There was just this unbearable pressure in my chest, and my head kept going blank in waves.

I hesitated. Then: "No."

Adeline turned to Mrs. Abbott. "Mom, maybe we should give Tom something."

Bertram shot her a look. "If you want to share, share from yours. I finally have enough money to stop renting. I'm counting on this to buy a house and put my son through school."

Lucius raised his hand.

"I'm not taking the civil service exam anymore. I'm using this money to start a business."

Adeline's lips moved, but she lowered her head without speaking.

Bertram turned to me.

"Tom, I think Lucius has a point. You should still put something in writing."

"Write what?"

"That you, as our eldest sister's husband, are giving up your share of the demolition money."

I laughed. I didn't even know why.

I took a deep breath.

"Fine. I'll write it."

I walked over to Mrs. Abbott, crouched beside her, and wrote a single line:

I voluntarily relinquish all claims to the eight million dollars in demolition compensation.

Then, stroke by careful stroke, I signed my name: Tom Delgado.

I set the pen down and looked at them.

"Can I go now?"

Mrs. Abbott smiled and nodded, her tone as casual as any other day.

"Don't forget to come back and make lunch. Your brother loves your homemade pasta, and Lucius has been craving it for days."

I walked down the cement road, cracked and buckled where the trucks had rolled over it.

I thought about the summer before my senior year of college, when I'd gone to my internship and fallen hopelessly in love with Florence, a girl so pure she was like a blank page.

I was twenty-five when she died giving birth to our child. Neither of them survived.

At the funeral, Mrs. Abbott grabbed my hand and wept until her voice broke.

"Tom, Florence died because of you. Her father passed years ago. From now on, you're the pillar of this family."

"My health isn't what it used to be. Your brother and sisters are still young. You have to help me hold this family together. I'm counting on you."

That day, I stood in my cold mourning clothes before Florence's headstone, clenched my jaw, and nodded.

From that day forward, my youth and my dreams took a back seat to this family.

I could have finished my degree. Found a good job.

I could have had my own life. My own future.

But I gave it all up.

After the funeral, I held Lucius in one arm, the boy barely old enough to walk, and knelt before Uncle Harold and the other relatives, pressing my forehead to the ground in gratitude for helping arrange Florence's burial.

Mrs. Abbott had four children. One of the deliveries had caused severe hemorrhaging. Her health never recovered after that, and she could only manage light housework.

The first year after I dropped out, I went to Uncle Harold's place to learn how to plant rice seed. I learned how to raise seedlings, how to transplant them into the paddies.

The sun beat down until my skin peeled in sheets. Thick calluses formed across my palms. Even holding a fork at dinner hurt.

When the busy season ended, I joined the local women picking fruit for the orchards. Bent over all day long, my back screaming like it might snap in two.

Fifty dollars a day.

When there was no fruit to pick, I hiked into the hills to dig up herbs and sold them for whatever small change I could get to help cover the household expenses.

At harvest time, I went door to door begging neighbors to help bring in our crops. I fumbled through the farmwork, clumsy as a kid trying to do a grown man's job.

The second year, I planted every inch of Mrs. Abbott's land with fruit trees.

Saplings take three years to bear fruit.

Three years without income wasn't an option.

So I started bouncing between the small factories in town, picking up whatever shifts I could find.

In March, I made plastic crates. The workshop was an oven. The fumes from the melting plastic stung so bad I could barely keep my eyes open. Blisters rose on my fingers, raw and bleeding, but I didn't dare stop.

May and June, back to the orchards picking fruit.

July onward, I ground glass into beads at the pearl factory. Fine dust coated my face, filled my lungs, left me coughing until I couldn't breathe.

When winter came, my hands swelled up like sausages from the cold.

After my shift, I still had to go to the chicken farm to collect eggs.

I wouldn't drag myself home until deep into the night.

During those years, I often cried in the dark when exhaustion finally broke me.

The next morning, I'd grit my teeth, haul myself out of bed, and do it all over again.

Year after year, every piece of clothing on my back was someone else's castoff.

But when my brother and sisters needed money, I never hesitated. Not once.

And so I kept spinning like a top, year after year, without rest.

Finally, Bertram passed the college entrance exams and got married.

Adeline graduated from college too.

The weight on my shoulders eased, just a little.

Once I put Lucius through school, I'd have fulfilled my duty.

I was thirty-six that year. A matchmaker set me up on a blind date.

The woman was from the next village over. Divorced, no kids. She liked me.

I wanted to give it a try. We met a few times, but Mrs. Abbott refused to approve it.

I had no choice but to let it go.

I thought things would slowly get better.

But five years later, Mrs. Abbott was suddenly paralyzed.

Eating, drinking, bathing, using the bathroom—she needed someone for everything.

Bertram said he was too busy with work. Adeline had just gotten married.

Lucius said he needed to focus on his studies.

Nobody was willing to step up.

So I shouldered the burden again, spending every waking hour at her side.

Feeding her. Bathing her. Turning her over. Emptying bedpans.

Day after day, without a single break.

Two years passed like that. Lucius graduated.

He couldn't find a job he liked after graduation, so he insisted on studying for the civil service exam.

He studied for three years.

I supported him without question for all three.

I had poured the best years of my life—half a lifetime of youth and sweat—into this family.

I thought that even if I couldn't claim any credit, at least my suffering counted for something.

But Mrs. Abbott said I was an outsider. That I'd contributed nothing to this family.

Eight million dollars in demolition compensation, and I didn't see a cent.

A shrill ringtone cut through my thoughts.

It was Mrs. Abbott.

"Where are you?"

I looked up and around. "At the orchard."

Twenty-five years. Trial and error. I'd replanted the peach trees three times over. Next year would finally bring a harvest.

Mrs. Abbott's voice was sharp with irritation. "Why aren't you home cooking dinner?"

"Mom, there are some things I need to sort through."

"Everyone's still hungry. Whatever it is, it can wait until after dinner. Get home. Now."

Home? Which home?

The one about to be torn down?

I'd once wanted a home of my own. Because of them, I'd abandoned that dream with my own two hands.

I didn't have a home anymore.

I hung up, but my feet kept moving.

In a daze, I walked to the next village and found myself standing in front of her door. The woman from the blind date.

The door was shut.

After I'd turned her down, she'd left for a job in the city.

I stood there for a while, then turned to leave.

But where was I supposed to go?

A neighbor, Aunt Agatha Chavez, came outside and spotted me. She smiled.

"Tom! I heard the James family got eight million from the demolition. What luck!"

"You've worked yourself to the bone for them your whole life. Mrs. Abbott must be giving you the lion's share, right?"

I smiled. Didn't say a word.

Agatha walked over and patted my hand, lowering her voice.

"Bella Simmons never remarried. Said she couldn't let go of you."

Bella. The woman from the blind date.

"Once the money's divided up, hire a home care nurse for Mrs. Abbott, and go be with Bella. You've given enough. You can't waste your whole life on the James family."

"You've spent the better part of your life living for them. It's time you started living for yourself."

A tremor ran through my body. I stood frozen.

My whole life, I'd been busy for them. Living for them.

I couldn't remember a single day I'd taken for myself.

I thought about everything I'd given over twenty-five years.

I thought about the future I'd thrown away.

I thought about Mrs. Abbott's words: You've contributed nothing to this family.

The tears finally came. I couldn't hold them back.

"If I didn't get a single cent... would she still want me?"

Agatha's eyes went wide. "What did you just say?"

The phone rang again. Lucius this time.

"Tom, where are you? Why aren't you home yet?"

I told him I'd be back soon.