Chapter 2
The moment I mentioned Grandma's medicine, my father's anger disappeared.
He stared at me as though I'd spoken in another language.
"What did you just say?"
I gripped the job application.
My hands were shaking.
"I said I've been buying Grandma's medicine."
Mom's face changed.
"Maya, honey, what medicine?"
I looked down.
I hadn't planned to tell them.
Not there.
Not in a store full of strangers.
But Dad had already embarrassed me.
And I was tired of pretending his money lessons affected everyone the same way.
"Grandma Ruth's prescriptions."
Dad frowned.
"My mother's?"
I nodded.
Grandma Ruth was sixty-eight.
She lived alone in a small house about twenty minutes from us.
She had arthritis and several other health problems that required regular medical care.
But she never complained.
Whenever we visited, she smiled.
She made sweet potato pie.
She told stories about Dad when he was little.
And she always gave me a hug that made me feel like the most important person in the world.
Three months earlier, I'd visited her after school.
I found her sitting at the kitchen table.
There were several medical bills spread in front of her.
She quickly covered them when she saw me.
But I'd already noticed.
"Grandma, what's wrong?"
She smiled.
"Nothing, baby."
I pointed at the bills.
"Are you okay?"
Her smile faded.
Then she sighed.
"Just trying to make everything stretch."
I sat beside her.
"What do you mean?"
She explained that some of her medical costs had increased.
She'd been trying to manage them alongside her electricity bill, groceries, and mortgage.
"Does Dad know?"
She shook her head.
"Your father's already got enough responsibilities."
I frowned.
"He owns a company."
She smiled sadly.
"That doesn't mean I want to ask him for everything."
I didn't understand.
But I could see she was worried.
The following week, I offered to help her organize her bills.
Then I started using part of my allowance to pay for some prescriptions and household necessities.
Sometimes I placed grocery orders.
Sometimes I helped cover her pharmacy copayments.
And sometimes I simply left money in an envelope on her kitchen counter.
She protested.
Every single time.
But I insisted.
I told her I wanted to help.
And eventually, she let me.
Now I stood in the electronics store explaining all of this to my father.
His face had gone completely white.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
I looked at him.
"Grandma asked me not to."
Dad swallowed.
"And you listened?"
I nodded.
"She didn't want you worrying."
Mom stepped closer.
"Maya, sweetheart, how much have you been spending?"
I hesitated.
"Most of my allowance."
Dad stared at me.
"Most?"
I nodded.
"I keep enough for school lunch and little things."
His eyes moved toward my sneakers.
For the first time that morning, he really looked at them.
The worn fabric.
The dirty soles.
The small hole near my right toe.
His expression changed.
"How long have you been wearing those?"
I shrugged.
"Almost a year."
He closed his eyes.
Mom whispered, "Marcus."
But Dad didn't respond.
He looked at the new sneakers in our cart.
Then back at me.
"Why didn't you buy them sooner?"
My throat tightened.
"Because Grandma needed her medicine."
Silence.
Even Jordan stopped moving.
Dad stared at me for several seconds.
Then he slowly sat down on a bench near the checkout area.
He looked exhausted.
I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
But then I remembered how he'd shouted at us.
How he'd called us irresponsible.
How he'd canceled my allowance without asking a single question.
And I felt angry again.
Dad looked up.
"Maya, come here."
I hesitated.
Mom gently touched my shoulder.
"It's okay."
I walked toward him.
He looked into my eyes.
"Sweetheart, I didn't know."
I swallowed.
"I know."
His face crumpled.
"Why didn't you come to me?"
I stared at him.
Then answered honestly.
"Because you're always busy."
He flinched.
I continued.
"Every time I try to talk to you, you tell me to ask Mom."
Dad looked down.
"That's not fair."
My eyes filled.
"It's true."
Mom said nothing.
I kept going.
"When I asked about Grandma's bills, you said she was fine."
Dad frowned.
"When?"
"Two months ago."
He stared at me.
I remembered that conversation clearly.
Dad had been sitting in his office, typing on his laptop.
I asked whether Grandma needed help.
He barely looked up.
"Your grandmother is fine, Maya. Don't worry about grown-up things."
Then he returned to his work.
I had gone upstairs feeling embarrassed.
And after that, I stopped asking.
Now Dad stared at me.
He looked as though he was seeing me for the first time.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
I wiped my cheeks.
But I wasn't ready to forgive him.
Not yet.
Because something else bothered me.
I turned toward Jordan.
He was still holding the PS5 box.
He looked uncomfortable.
I remembered all the times he'd laughed when I refused to buy expensive things.
All the times he'd called me cheap.
All the times he'd told me to stop acting like we were poor.
Now he stared at me with tears in his eyes.
"Maya..."
I shook my head.
"Don't."
He looked down.
I turned back toward Dad.
"Can we please go home?"
Dad nodded.
"Yes."
Mom gently took the cart.
But before we left, Dad stopped her.
He removed the PS5.
Then the expensive headphones.
Then several other items Jordan had chosen.
He placed them on a nearby return counter with an employee's help.
Jordan's face hardened.
"Dad!"
Marcus looked at him.
"We're going to talk about your spending too."
Jordan crossed his arms.
"But Maya gets her shoes?"
Dad looked toward me.
Then back at him.
"Maya needs shoes."
Jordan laughed bitterly.
"And I need a console."
Dad's expression changed.
"No, son. You want a console."
Jordan looked furious.
But he didn't argue again.
We paid for groceries and the sneakers.
Then we left.
The ride home was miserable.
Jordan stared out the window.
Mom sat silently beside Dad.
I held my shoe box in my lap.
For months, I'd dreamed of getting new sneakers.
But now I couldn't even feel happy about them.
Because all I could think about was Grandma.
If Dad had canceled my allowance, how would I keep helping her?
Would she be embarrassed if he found out?
Would she blame herself?
I pressed my forehead against the window.
Then Dad's phone rang.
He answered through the car speakers.
"Marcus Williams."
A woman's voice came through.
"Mr. Williams, this is Dr. Bennett's office."
Dad frowned.
"Yes?"
"We've been trying to contact your mother."
My stomach tightened.
Mom turned toward the speaker.
"Is Ruth okay?"
The woman hesitated.
"She missed her last follow-up appointment."
Dad's expression changed.
"What appointment?"
"Her cardiovascular evaluation."
I stopped breathing.
Cardiovascular?
Grandma had never mentioned heart problems to me.
Dad slowed the car.
"What are you talking about?"
The woman sounded surprised.
"Your mother has been receiving treatment for a heart condition."
Mom covered her mouth.
Dad stared straight ahead.
"How serious?"
The woman paused.
"I can't discuss her private medical details without authorization. But we're concerned because she hasn't returned our calls."
My heart began pounding.
Dad looked at me through the rearview mirror.
"Maya, did you know about this?"
I shook my head.
"No."
The woman continued.
"We recommend that your mother contact the office as soon as possible."
Dad promised to have Grandma call.
Then he disconnected.
Nobody spoke.
Finally, Mom whispered, "Marcus, we need to go see her."
He nodded.
But before he could turn the car, my phone vibrated.
A message from Grandma.
My sweet girl, please don't worry about me. I love you.
I stared at it.
Something felt wrong.
Grandma usually sent cheerful messages.
Little jokes.
Pictures of flowers.
Never anything that sounded like goodbye.
I showed Mom.
Her expression changed immediately.
"Marcus."
Dad looked at the message.
Then turned the car toward Grandma's neighborhood.
I gripped my phone.
My heart was racing.
And for the first time, I realized something terrifying.
I'd been helping Grandma with money for months.
But I hadn't known how sick she really was.
When we reached her street, Dad pulled into the driveway.
Grandma's car was there.
The curtains were closed.
And a package of groceries sat untouched on the porch.
Dad hurried toward the door.
He knocked.
"Mom?"
No answer.
He knocked harder.
"Mom, it's Marcus!"
Still nothing.
I felt my knees weaken.
Then I noticed something through the front window.
Grandma's favorite blue mug lay on the kitchen floor.
Broken.
I grabbed Dad's arm.
"Dad..."
He looked through the window.
His face went white.
May you like
And then we heard a faint voice from inside.
"Marcus... help me."
