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.

I wiped my tears and said goodbye to Aunt Agatha.

Back at the house, I tied my apron on again and picked up the rolling pin.

I walked into the kitchen without a word and started cooking.

Mrs. Abbott sat in the main room, nodding with satisfaction.

"See? I told you. Your brother-in-law is a man who handles things. He's not going to throw a fit over a little demolition money."

The younger siblings stood off to the side, quietly breathing sighs of relief.

At dinner, Adeline held a bowl and spooned food into Mrs. Abbott's mouth.

Mrs. Abbott watched her, her tone casual, as if she were commenting on the weather.

"Adeline, the demolition money came through. Take two hundred thousand and buy me a place in town."

"Somewhere close to the hospital, preferably. Makes it easier for your brother-in-law to look after me."

Adeline froze for a moment. She glanced at me, then lowered her head. "Okay."

Mrs. Abbott swallowed a mouthful of rice and kept going.

"And from now on, you'll give me ten thousand dollars a month."

"The doctor said if I keep up with physical therapy, I might be able to walk again."

Adeline's brow creased.

She looked across the table at Bertram and the youngest brother, both shoveling food into their mouths, and asked in a low voice:

"How long does the therapy take?"

"I've been paralyzed for six years. Could be six or seven more years at least, maybe ten before there's any real improvement."

Adeline set her bowl and chopsticks down hard.

"Mom, forget the demolition money. Keep it yourself."

Mrs. Abbott glared at her.

"What's that supposed to mean? You think your own mother is too much trouble?"

Adeline's face flushed crimson. She couldn't get a single word out.

I had no appetite at all. I set down my chopsticks, my voice calm.

"Mom, the demolition money came through. Have them hire you a home care nurse."

"I'm leaving. I can't take care of you anymore."

Mrs. Abbott went rigid.

"Leaving? Where are you going?"

"Into the city. To find work."

"What the hell has gotten into you, Tom!"

Mrs. Abbott's voice shot up, shrill and panicked.

"If you leave, what happens to me?"

Her eyes swept the room.

"They got their demolition money. They won't just abandon you."

At that, Bertram and the youngest brother finally looked up, staring at me in stunned disbelief.

Mrs. Abbott's eyes went red, her voice cracking into a whimper.

"Over a little demolition money, you're going to throw a tantrum and abandon me?"

"Have you forgotten how my Florence died? If she were still alive, would I need you to take care of me?"

I looked at her.

"Mom, when Florence had that difficult labor, it was you who—"

I clenched my jaw and swallowed the words pressing against my chest.

"Mom, I've looked after you for twenty-five years. Looked after this family for twenty-five years."

"I've done my part. I'm tired. I just can't do it anymore."

Before she could respond, I stood up and walked into the bedroom to pack.

When I came out, they were all standing by the door.

Staring at me like I was a criminal.

Bertram rushed forward and grabbed the handle of my suitcase.

"You can't leave!"

I looked him dead in the eye.

"Why can't I?"

His gaze darted away. He turned his face to the side.

"You have to take care of Mom. She—"

I cut him off.