Chapter 8 - GRANDMA KNEW EXACTLY WHAT THEY WOULD DO
Seeing Grandma again nearly broke me.
She sat in the old sunroom at my parents’ house.
Same silver hair.
Same blue cardigan.
Same tiny smile that always made me feel like she knew more than everyone else.
“Hello, Briar.”
I covered my mouth.
She continued.
“If this recording has reached you, then your parents are probably in financial trouble again.”
Lydia glanced at me.
Grandma had known.
“I love your mother,” she said.
“And I love your father.”
A pause.
“But loving people does not require financing every bad decision they refuse to change.”
She explained the house.
Grandma had saved it once.
Then Dad borrowed again.
Then again.
She realized that every rescue taught my parents that consequences belonged to somebody else.
“So I changed the note.”
Grandma’s eyes sharpened.
“When Briar reaches twenty-five, she decides what happens.”
Not Dad.
Not Mom.
Me.
“She may restructure the loan.”
“She may require a sale.”
“She may forgive part of it.”
“She may do nothing.”
Then Grandma leaned closer to the camera.
“But nobody is allowed to tell her what love requires.”
I cried.
Because my entire childhood had been built around people telling me exactly what love required.
Pay this.
Cover that.
Don’t upset your brother.
Help your mother.
Your father is stressed.
Family needs you.
Grandma’s final words surprised me.
“Mason may surprise you.”
I almost laughed through tears.
“He has been overprotected, not necessarily ruined.”
Then:
“Your mother may eventually tell the truth if she becomes more afraid of losing you than losing comfort.”
And Dad?
Grandma’s expression changed.
“Thomas will not stop until someone makes stopping cheaper than continuing.”
The video ended.
That afternoon, Mason came to my apartment.
He placed his car keys on the counter.
“What are these?”
“Take the car.”
“I don’t want your car.”
“You paid for most of it.”
“The trust did.”
“Same thing.”
I looked at him.
For the first time, my older brother looked ashamed.
“I sold my watch this morning.”
“Why?”
“To make January’s payment.”
“You don’t need to prove something in one day.”
“No.”
He nodded.
“But I need to start somewhere.”
Then he told me something Dad had said the night before Christmas dinner.
Something I hadn’t known.
Dad had told Mason:
Once Briar is out, she’ll cool down. She always comes back when we need something paid.
Mason swallowed.
“He didn’t throw you out because he thought you needed independence.”
My stomach tightened.
May you like
“Then why?”
“Because he thought you were too trained to stop funding us.”
