My father, John, announced out of the blue that he was going on a trip with an old army buddy. But then, I found a little note tucked into the travel itinerary. “Little One wants to go to Disney.” I assumed he was talking about me, that he’d somehow included me in the plans. I walked into the kitchen, the itinerary in my hand. “Dad, I’m way too old for Disney. I’m past that age.” His hand jerked, and the spatula clattered into the pan. “Oh, right, honey. Look at me, getting old and forgetful. I just keep remembering how you used to beg to go when you were little.” This time, it was my turn to freeze. When I was little… I had never even heard of Disney. I didn’t call him out on it right then. Instead, I quietly looked up the other ID number on that travel itinerary. It wasn’t his old army friend, Uncle Ben. It was a familiar name. Gloria Hayes. Our neighbor for over a decade, living right next door. A single mother raising a twelve-year-old daughter. I didn’t tell anyone. I just secretly made a copy of the itinerary. 1 The next day, as soon as my dad left, I knocked on Gloria’s door. When Gloria opened it, she was as warm and friendly as ever. “Anna? Come in, come in!” She was wearing a comfortable tracksuit, her hair casually tied back. “My mom asked me to borrow some cold medicine. We’re all out.” I lied. She turned and walked further into the apartment, glancing back at me as she went. “Don’t just stand there, come in and sit down. There’s fruit on the coffee table, help yourself. I’ll find that medicine for you.” I continued my lie, my eyes slowly taking in everything in the room. On the TV stand, there was a row of photos of her daughter, from a newborn portrait to recent professional shots, lined up like a display of extraordinary achievements. On the coffee table was a plate of freshly washed strawberries, each one large and plump. I recognized the variety; they sold for over twenty dollars a pound at the supermarket. My mom had looked at them for a long time last week but ultimately hadn’t brought herself to buy them. My gaze swept across the living room and then stopped at the TV stand. A gold necklace lay there. It was an old-fashioned gold necklace, with a traditional cloud-shaped pendant. The style was at least twenty years old. It looked familiar. I walked over, picked up the necklace, and examined it. Sure enough, beneath the pendant, I saw a small bite mark. It was from when I was a child. I’d been watching a TV show and bit the gold, copying the way they tested it. I’d bitten so hard that I’d left a distinct mark. This necklace was the only piece of jewelry my dad had given my mom as a wedding gift. My mom had kept it for over twenty years. Aside from that bite mark, it was almost as good as new. One year, we were so broke that we barely had food to eat. Someone offered a high price for it, but my mom refused to sell. She said money could be earned again, but sentiment couldn’t be replaced. She had always kept it so carefully, but a few years ago, the necklace disappeared. My mom turned the house upside down, crying and saying she must have lost it. My dad had hugged her, comforting her. “Out with the old, in with the new. I’ll buy you an even better one later.” Footsteps suddenly sounded behind me. I put the necklace back, stepping back to stand by the coffee table. Gloria came out with the medicine, smiling as she handed it to me. “Here, cold medicine. How’s your mom doing lately? I heard her back was bothering her a while ago. Is it better?” “Much better.” I took the medicine, looking at her. Her skin was well-maintained. There were a few fine lines at the corners of her eyes when she smiled. I had seen that face in our apartment complex for over a decade. Each time, we’d exchange polite nods, and occasionally, if we met in the elevator, she’d ask about my mom. “Aunt Gloria.” I spoke suddenly. “Hmm?” “That gold necklace of yours is lovely. Where did you buy it?” She paused, then chuckled. “Oh, this? A friend gave it to me. Why, do you like it? I’ll ask them where they got it and let you know.” “No, that’s alright. I was just curious.” I turned to leave. As the door closed behind me, I heard her say, “Take care, Anna. Come visit again!” I stood outside her door, clutching the cold medicine in my hand. Just then, my mom came back from grocery shopping. Seeing the medicine in my hand, she asked if I was sick. I forced myself to sound calm, my voice low. “Just a bit of a cough. I borrowed some from Aunt Gloria.” My mom didn’t detect anything amiss. Instead, she said warmly, “Aunt Gloria has it tough raising a child by herself. Let’s send her some fruit later.” Looking at the oranges on the dining table, my eyes welled up slightly. I had bought them two days ago, and she hadn’t touched them, saving them for me. She was wearing an old sweater she’d bought years ago, the cuffs a little fuzzy. Her hair was home-dyed, with uneven color near her temples. She had always been like this her whole life, never splurging on herself, always prioritizing my dad and me. When my dad said he wanted to travel, she was happy for days, helping him pack, reminding him to be careful. I suggested she go with him. But she said she didn’t like soaking in hot springs. Lost in my thoughts, my mom walked over and waved a hand in front of my face. “What are you thinking about? Go deliver those oranges.” I looked at her. Her neck was bare. “Mom.” “Did you ever find your gold necklace?” My mom’s hand paused. She looked down at her own neck, unconsciously touching it, then sighed with a smile. “No, not yet. Oh well, maybe it wasn’t meant to be mine.” She smiled, but all I wanted to do was cry. 2 Soon, it was time for their trip. I took annual leave and booked a ticket on the same high-speed train, quietly trailing behind them. When they first boarded, my dad was still pretending not to know Gloria. But the moment the train started moving, he put his arm around her shoulders. I saw the little girl lean forward, as if saying something to my dad. My dad playfully pinched her cheek. The little girl cuddled up to both of them, calling them “Daddy” and “Mommy.” I had suggested many times after starting work that we go on a family trip. But each time, my dad would say he was too busy, or he’d use my mom’s frugality as an excuse. I’m twenty-eight years old, and I’ve never once traveled with my parents. I gently lifted my sunglasses and wiped away the tears that had spilled over. I sent a message to a friend. “Can you pull up my dad’s bank statements? As far back as you can, at least fifteen years.” My friend didn’t ask any questions, just replied with “Got it.” After we got off the train, I followed them to the resort. In the parking lot, I saw my dad helping Gloria with her luggage. The little girl skipped excitedly toward the lobby, and my dad quickly called out, “Slow down, Little One.” “Little One.” The nickname my dad had called me for over twenty years was now for someone else. I adjusted my mask and sunglasses and walked into the lobby. They had booked a family suite. Thirty-eight hundred dollars a night. For a week. I gave a self-deprecating smile. I had never stayed in a hotel that expensive myself. But my dad swiped his card without a moment’s hesitation. It was clear this wasn’t their first trip together. I stood behind a pillar a short distance away, clenching my fists. The moment the elevator doors closed, I saw my dad’s hand on Gloria’s waist. A gesture I had never seen him make at home. My dad and mom always walked side by side, never touching. Sometimes, my mom would try to link arms with him, and he’d pull away, saying they were too old for that, it would make people laugh. Now, he clearly wasn’t worried about being laughed at. As soon as I entered the room I’d booked, I received a message from my friend. It was a seventy-plus-page document. I meticulously went through it, line by line. My dad’s payroll account showed a fixed income every month and fixed transfers out. The recipient was my mom’s account. Every transaction seemed perfectly legitimate. Groceries, clothes, supermarket purchases. Even the online shopping records seemed fine. Until I noticed that every month, he had a fixed transaction at a particular supermarket. I circled that transaction and sent it to my friend. “Can you tell me what this transaction is for?” The reply came quickly. “No specific details. It appears to be a transfer.” I thought for a moment, then looked up the owner of the supermarket. Gloria’s brother, David Hayes. I repeated the name several times. Then I suddenly realized why he’d managed to keep it a secret for so long. Besides the obvious hiding in plain sight, he had covered every single track. I continued scrolling down, highlighting all the monthly transfers to the supermarket. I discovered that for the past ten years, my dad had been making these monthly payments to this supermarket. Initially, the amounts were small, a few hundred or a thousand, then three to five thousand. Eventually, it became a fixed transfer of fifteen hundred dollars every month. And the earlier, smaller amounts added up to exactly fifteen hundred a month. I understood. My dad’s payroll went to my mom’s account—that was the legitimate money, clean and clear. But he had other sources of income. Bonuses and side jobs before he retired, then a re-hiring salary after retirement. He never mentioned that money. He channeled all of it, disguised as daily expenses, through Gloria’s brother’s supermarket. At first, he was afraid of being discovered, but later, he didn’t even bother to hide it. Fifteen hundred dollars a month, eighteen thousand a year. One hundred eighty thousand dollars over ten years. Enough to buy Gloria’s daughter many strawberries, many pretty clothes, many Barbie dolls. And the house Gloria was living in now. No wonder she never had to work. Yet she had a membership at the beauty salon downstairs and could afford to send her daughter to the best middle school. It was all my father providing for them.
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394459”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel
