For a while, everything went quiet. I kept my secret. I stayed in my old apartment with the peeling linoleum and the view of the grocery store parking lot. I still drove my same beat-up Honda. I even went to work for a few weeks at the warehouse, pretending everything was normal, while my bank account quietly grew from interest alone.
But secrets have a way of creating new cracks where you least expect them.
About two months later, I got a text from Mark. It just said, “Heard you came into money.”
I froze. My first thought was that he’d somehow found out about the lottery. But when I asked what he meant, he replied, “Mom said you were paying for Lily’s school. Must be nice having cash again.”
I didn’t respond.
That night, when I checked my security footage from the storage unit—yes, I’d installed my own camera—I saw that someone had tried to break in. The padlock was damaged. The ticket was still there, but someone had been close. Too close.
The next morning, I got a call from my mom. She sounded cheerful, the way she only ever did when she wanted something. She said she was proud of me for getting back on my feet and hinted that she and Mark might need help with a few bills.
I told her I couldn’t help.
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