"The spot at the elite middle school, the study abroad opportunity—you gave them all to Wilfred. There was even a time he hit someone with his car, and I was the one who took the fall."
"In college, you kept me on a tight leash to 'avoid favoritism.' Three hundred dollars a month for living expenses, while Wilfred got thirty thousand in pocket money."
"Did I ever talk back?"
"How much more obedient did I need to be?"
Mom had no answer. For once, she didn't know what to say.
I didn't wait around. I went back to my room, threw some clothes into a bag, and headed for the door.
"What do you think you're doing? Running away from home?"
She'd found her voice again.
No apology.
Just anger.
I didn't respond. Just kept my head down and walked out.
Her voice followed me through the door: "Grace! All this drama over not being made CEO?"
"You ungrateful child—if you walk out tonight, don't ever come back!"
"I'll pretend I never had a daughter!"
I'd heard it all before. My whole life, these same words.
But she was still my mother. My own flesh and blood.
Part of me always believed that someday, somehow, I could earn their approval.
That's why I could never go through with it before. But this time, I slammed the door behind me.
The wind outside cut right through me.
Still warmer than that house.
I didn't have a car.
Dad said it would "look bad"—he didn't want people thinking he spoiled me.
Mom said Wilfred didn't have a license yet, hadn't gotten a car, and she didn't want to hurt his feelings.
I'd barely reached the curb when a car pulled up beside me. The window slid down, revealing a handsome face.
Paul Farley. My junior from university.
I got in and frowned at him. "What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at the usual place."
"The whole city knows you had a blowout with your family."
I froze, then pulled out my phone. The headlines were everywhere.
Galloway Group cuts out biological daughter, names niece as successor—lavish gala planned for tomorrow with A-list guests!
BREAKING: Grace Galloway disowns parents, now homeless!
Word traveled fast.
My parents had texted too.
Without the Galloway name, who's going to give you the time of day? Think carefully.
Stop being so selfish. Come home right now and apologize to your father and Wilfred. Say something nice and they'll forgive you. Otherwise you can starve on the streets—no one will even claim your body.
I didn't reply. Just smiled.
Starve?
Nobody will recognize my face?
We'll see about that.
I followed Paul into a quiet lounge bar. The moment I looked up, I spotted a familiar figure.
My heart stopped.
Louis Sullivan. My childhood sweetheart. My ex-boyfriend.
He was wrapped in Wilfred's arms, a sweet smile playing on his lips.
"There's your answer."
Paul's voice cut through. "You really are dense sometimes. Those two have been together since they were studying abroad."
What?
My mind went blank. I felt like a complete fool.
Years ago, my parents had actually suggested I "give" Paul to Wilfred.
Their reasoning was absurd: they were worried people would say they'd used their influence to pressure Louis into marrying me.
I refused. Dad beat me with a cane—a hundred strikes—and I still wouldn't budge.
Then Louis went overseas. Four years of long distance. I paid for everything—tuition, rent, all of it.
The day he came back, he broke up with me.
His eyes were red when he said it: "Grace, your parents put too much pressure on me. They'll never accept us being together. So let's just end it here—I don't want to hold you back."
