Chapter 3

This was the money for Joel's funeral.

His parents wouldn't put up a cent, and I was a stay-at-home mother with no income of my own.

The only way I got through it was by draining what savings the household still had and maxing out my credit card.

Every bit of condolence money the relatives gave went straight into the pockets of Joel's parents.

I was the one who'd paid and done the work, and I ended up with nothing.

I shut my eyes in despair.

My son was still so small. This family still needed me to hold it up.

I couldn't fall apart. I didn't have the right to.

After an hour's rest I dragged myself up off the couch and opened the laptop.

I was about to move my resume over from my phone when I stumbled onto something Timothy had just posted on his social media.

The photo was taken in front of the old Harding house.

The run-down place had already been leveled, cleared and waiting to be rebuilt.

Parked in front of the rubble was a brand-new black car.

Timothy stood half-turned, flashing a peace sign, angled just enough to show off the Mercedes emblem on the grille.

I saved the picture and ran a reverse image search on my phone.

A second later the results loaded.

Even the base model of that car ran a million.

The Harding relatives were all liking it.

The comments were nothing but praise.

The anger I'd barely managed to swallow came surging back up.

I went back to the app, ready to demand where Timothy had gotten the money for a car like that.

My eyes drifted down, and I saw the muted family group chat sitting at 99+ messages.

I tapped in. Wall to wall envy, one message after another.

"Timothy bought a car? And he's rebuilding a house for your folks too? Now that's making something of yourself. When you get the chance, bring your cousins in on it."

"Timothy, man, that car is seriously flashy! Can't have been cheap, right? I heard the high-end one goes for one point three million. Where'd you get that kind of money? Win the lottery?"

"Neither Harding boy is a dud, I'll say that. Same last name and all, if my worthless kid had even half of what you two brothers have going for him, I could die laughing."

Timothy posted a sixty-second voice message in the chat.

I tapped it. He was laughing.

"It's pocket change, really. You've got to give a little to get a little. Just did some small business lately, got lucky and made a bit. When the chance comes we'll all get rich together!"

He ignored every single question about how he'd actually earned it and just kept saying he'd gotten lucky.

I scrolled through the messages one by one, and my heart sank lower with each of them.

I knew exactly what kind of person Timothy was.

In the three years I'd been married into the Hardings, he'd borrowed money at least five times, all of it going to game top-ups and tips for livestreamers.

A grown man at his age, and he couldn't even land himself a girlfriend.

No wonder Joel's parents refused, no matter what, to give me any share of the payout.

No wonder they'd rather forge an IOU and disown their own grandson than let go of that three million.

I'd actually thought it was just two old people worrying about their retirement, wanting a cushion for themselves.

It turned out they simply favored their younger son.

Seen that way, the wages my in-laws used to squeeze out of Joel under the excuse of paying off debts had mostly gone into Timothy's pocket too.

I was burning with anger, aching at how little all of my dead husband's devotion had been worth.

After a moment's thought, I typed out a line, fast.

"Getting rich all on your own isn't very decent. Everyone's been asking this whole time and you still can't say how. It wouldn't happen to be blood-and-sweat money someone paid for with their life, would it?"

Two seconds after I hit send, a line popped up on the screen.

"You have been removed from this group chat."

Too angry to let it go, I opened his chat and called Timothy.

The call failed, a red exclamation mark appearing on the screen.