I still remember the smell of the halls at Northwestern University that day. The smell of old wood floors, cheap perfume mixed with the sweat of excitement. Thousands of parents jostled, holding up their phones to take pictures of their children in their graduation gowns.
I, Elena Vance, stood on the stage receiving my Summa Cum Laude degree in Architecture. When the President called my name, I paused for a second, squinting down at the family seats.
Seats 14, 15, 16. Empty.
My parents and my sister Chloe didn’t show up. They said the airfare from Ohio was too expensive. They said Chloe had a cold and needed someone to take care of her. But I knew the real reason. They didn’t show up because they didn’t care. In their eyes, I was the “weird” kid, the taciturn girl who only knew how to draw instead of finding a rich husband like Chloe (even though Chloe was divorced twice and unemployed).
I got my diploma, walked off the stage, and headed straight to the bus stop. I celebrated my graduation with a $5 burger in a damp basement apartment.
That was five years ago.
Now, I’m standing in the living room of a 3,000-square-foot penthouse atop The Legacy in Chicago. Calacatta marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the deep blue of Lake Michigan. Market value: $2.8 million.
I didn’t buy it. I made it. I’m an interior architect specializing in luxury real estate. I buy rundown apartments, renovate them into works of art, and resell them for double the price. This is my most cherished project, and it’s where I’ve lived for the past six months.
Last week, Architectural Digest published an eight-page feature on the apartment, headlined: “The Rise of Elena Vance: From the Basement to the Top of Chicago.”
And sure enough, my phone started ringing. Not from a client. It was my mother.
“Elena! Honey!” My mother’s voice came through the lobby intercom, so sweet it almost made me shiver. “Mom, Dad, and Chloe are downstairs. We want to surprise you! Open the door!”
They had driven six hours from Ohio. Unannounced. I looked at the security camera. My parents were dressed more than usual. Chloe was touching up her makeup, her eyes darting around the luxurious, gold-plated lobby.
I took a deep breath. “Let them in,” I told the security guard.
The private elevator doors opened directly into my living room. When they opened, I saw their jaws drop to the floor. Literally.
My mom walked in first, clutching a Tupperware container (probably some old casserole). She dropped it when she saw the Baccarat crystal chandelier suspended from the 20-foot ceiling.
“Oh my god…” My dad muttered, his eyes greedily scanning the Italian leather sofa and the glass wall overlooking the city.
Chloe didn’t say anything. She ran to the window and took out her phone to take a selfie. “OMG! This view is a million dollars! No, millions!”
“Hey, Mom, Chloe,” I stood with my arms crossed, leaning against the quartz kitchen island. I was wearing a simple silk dress, but I knew my aura had changed.
“Elena!” My mom rushed forward, opening her arms to hug me. I deftly took a step back, causing her to hug me in mid-air.
“Sweetie, why didn’t you tell us you lived in a place like this?” My mother wasn’t embarrassed; she immediately switched to a tone of loving reproach. “The press said this house was worth $2.8 million! You’re so rich, and you let your parents live in a run-down house in Ohio?”
“You work hard, Mom,” I replied coldly. “And remember the last time we spoke, Dad called me a ‘dreamer’ when I said I wanted to start my own company.”
“I’m just worried about you!” Dad grinned, pacing around the living room, touching the sculptures. “But look, you proved me wrong. I’m so proud! So proud!”
“That’s right,” Chloe chimed in, her eyes shining. “Hey, Elena, how many bedrooms does this house have? I see a spa bath over there, you can have that one!”
I raised my eyebrows. “Are you planning on staying the night?”
“Sleepover?” My mom laughed. “We’re family! Actually… we have something to discuss with you. We sold our house in Ohio.”
I invited them to sit on the sofa. I didn’t pour any water.
“Sell the house?” I asked. “Why?”
“The market’s good,” my dad lied. I knew he had gambling debts. “And we think it’s time to retire. We want to move to Chicago to… well, be closer to you. Make up for all those years apart.”
“And,” Chloe added, her voice full of excitement. “I just broke up with that horrible boyfriend. I need a fresh start. I think I could be a manager for your company. Or… an image agent? I have a lot of followers on Instagram.”
“What we mean,” my mom concluded, leaning back on the sofa like she owned the house. “We will move here to live with you. This apartment is too big for one person. You need the warmth of family. Chloe will stay in the east living room, and we will take the master bedroom.”
(I don’t need a big room anyway.)
I looked at them. Three faces were looking at me with obvious expectation. They weren’t here to visit me. They were here to invade. They saw my success not as a source of pride, but as an open-pit gold mine to exploit.
They didn’t attend my graduation because of the cost of the ticket. But they were willing to sell their house and drive six hours to come here and take over my $2.8 million apartment.
“You want to move in here?” I asked again, my voice calm.
“Of course!” Chloe said. “I’m your sister. How could you bear to leave me on the street? Besides, you’re so rich, it’s easy to support a family.”
“We’re blood relatives,” my father added, his voice solemn. “You have an obligation to support your parents. Law and morality say so.”
I stood up, walked to the bar, and poured myself a glass of wine.
“I remember,” I said slowly. “When I left home for college, my mother said, ‘You’re on your own when you get out the door, don’t expect me to send you a penny.’ I had to work three jobs to pay for my tuition.”
“What’s the point of bringing up old stories!” My mother waved her hand. “Your parents were having a hard time back then. Now that you’re successful, you have to be generous.”
“Compassionate,” I repeated the word. “Okay. I have good news and bad news for everyone.”
“What’s the good news?” My father’s eyes lit up.
“The good news is,” I smiled. “This apartment is really valuable. It’s a great asset.”
“Great!” Chloe clapped her hands. “So what’s the bad news? Is the dishwasher broken?
I shook my head. I looked at my watch. 2 p.m.
“The bad news is… you’re two hours late.”
Ding Dong.
The doorbell rang.
“Who is it?” My mother frowned. “Your guests? Tell them to go home, we’re having a family meeting.”
I went to open the door. Outside stood a well-dressed middle-aged couple, accompanied by a lawyer and a real estate agent.
“Hello, Ms. Vance,” the man smiled. “We’re here to take over.”
I turned to look at my family. They were confused.
“Take over what?” Chloe asked.
“Introduce everyone,” I said loudly. “This is Mr. and Mrs. Sterling. The new owner of this apartment.”
The whole room fell silent. My mother dropped her bag. My father gasped.
“The new… owner?” My father stammered.
“That’s right,” I stepped closer to my parents, my voice sharp. “I’m a house flipper. I’m not living here forever. I’m living here while the house is being finished, giving it a ‘soul’. And this morning, at 10 o’clock, I signed a contract to sell this apartment for $3.2 million. All the furniture is included.”
“You… you sold the house?” my mother yelled. “So where are we?”
“That’s none of your business,” I shrugged. “You sold the house in Ohio without asking me. You came here without telling me. It’s not my responsibility to keep the house for you?”
“But… but that money!” My father’s eyes lit up again. “$3.2 million! I have cash! We can buy another villa! This time, Mom will manage it under her name for sure!”
Mr. Sterling, the new owner, cleared his throat. “Sorry, we need to check the house one last time. Ask those who are not related to leave.”
“We are her family!” Chloe screamed.
“They are uninvited guests,” I told Mr. Sterling. “Please give me five minutes to see them off.”
I dragged my family to the elevator lobby.
“Elena!” My mother grabbed my hand, her nails digging into my skin painfully. “Where is the money? Give half to Mom and Dad right now. Mom and Dad need to buy a house. Chloe needs a new car.”
“I can’t,” I pulled her hand away.
“Why? Are you going to swallow it all by yourself? You’re unfilial!”
“No,” I smiled. “I don’t keep the money. I used all the profits from the sale of this house, plus the savings of the past five years, to fulfill my biggest dream.”
“What dream?” Chloe asked, her voice trembling.
“I bought a dilapidated vineyard in Tuscany, Italy. I’m moving there tonight. My flight leaves at 6 p.m.”
“You’re going to Italy?” my father roared. “You’re leaving your parents here? Homeless? No money?
“We have money from the sale of our house in Ohio,” I reminded her.
“Your dad blew it all in the casino last week!” My mother blurted out, then quickly covered her mouth.
I laughed. A bitter laugh. That was it. They didn’t come because they missed me. They came because they were desperate. They were parasites who had eaten their old host and were looking for a new one.
“Good luck, then,” I said, pressing the elevator button.
“Elena!” My mother collapsed to her knees on the lobby floor, weeping. “I can’t do this! You gave me life! You gave me life!”
“You gave me life, but you never gave me a family,” I looked down at her, my eyes drained of all emotion. “The day I graduated, I looked down at that row of empty seats and swore: I’m going to be so successful that you can’t even touch me. And today, I did it.”
The elevator opened.
“I’m leaving,” I stepped into the elevator.
“Wait!” Chloe blocked the elevator door. “I’ll come with you! Tuscany is fine! I like Italy!”
“No, Chloe,” I pushed her hand away. “In Tuscany, n
People have to work to eat. You don’t fit in.”
“You’re an asshole!” Chloe yelled as the elevator doors began to close.
“Maybe,” I said through the narrowing crack. “But I’m a asshole with $3.2 million and a first-class ticket. And you’re just homeless.”
The door closed. I watched the floor numbers roll down. 50… 40… 30… Each floor was a weight lifted off my shoulders.
I walked out of The Legacy. The Uber was waiting to take me to O’Hare Airport. I looked up at the penthouse one last time. I saw the small silhouette of my family being ushered out of the lobby by security. They stood huddled on the blustery Chicago sidewalk, next to their suitcases, arguing and blaming each other.
I didn’t feel sad. I didn’t feel remorse. I just felt relieved.
They had “remembered” me when they saw the glow of money. But they had forgotten one thing: I wasn’t a lamp to warm them. I was a fire. And if they tried to take advantage of me, they would burn.
I got in the car. “To the international airport, please,” I told the driver. car.
Chicago fell behind. America fell behind. My real life was waiting in a sun-drenched vineyard across the ocean, where there were no empty chairs on the big day, and no uninvited guests who came just to make demands.
