Chapter 4 - The Reality Check
The party continued in a bizarre, surreal fog. Ashley locked herself in the master bedroom with her parents, refusing to come out, while Denise could be heard through the door frantically calling real estate agents and lawyers. Ryan sat alone on the back patio, staring blankly into the empty space where the party tent stood, holding a paper plate of half-eaten cake that he couldn't swallow.
I sat down across from him on the wooden bench. The afternoon sun was warm, casting long shadows across the immaculate lawn that my father had spent his weekends mowing.
“You knew, didn’t you?” Ryan whispered, his voice cracked and hollow. “You knew all along that this house belonged to Grandpa, not us.”
“Everyone knew, Ryan,” I replied gently. “The only one who managed to forget was Ashley, and eventually, you let her convince you that you were the lords of a domain you never earned.”
“She wanted to impress her parents,” Ryan groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “They’ve always looked down on us. They think anyone who works with their hands is a failure. I just wanted them to respect us for once.”
“Respect isn’t bought with stolen status, Ryan,” I said. “Grandpa worked forty years so we wouldn't have to starve. He gave you a roof, and instead of gratitude, your wife treated him like an embarrassing stain on her pristine social image. You let her do it. Every time she rolled her eyes, every time she made a snide remark about his clothes, you stayed silent.”
Ryan didn't answer. He couldn't. He knew I was right.
Inside the house, the front door opened, and Robert and Denise marched out, their faces twisted in bitter disgust. They didn't even say goodbye to Lily. They packed themselves into their luxury SUV, tires screeching as they sped down the driveway, abandoning their daughter to face the music she had composed.
Ten minutes later, Ashley walked out of the bedroom. Her makeup was slightly smeared, her designer dress looking out of place in the quiet, tense atmosphere of the house. She looked around the living room, seeing the remnants of the party—the half-empty juice cups, the discarded wrapping paper, and my father sitting quietly in his armchair, cleaning his glasses with a clean rag.
She didn't look arrogant anymore. She looked desperate.
“Frank,” she said, her voice trembling slightly as she tried to force a pathetic semblance of a smile. “Can we... can we talk? Privately?”
Dad didn’t put his glasses back on immediately. He looked up at her, his eyes sharp and clear.
“You can say whatever you have to say right here, Ashley,” Dad said. “Nothing to hide.”
Ashley swallowed hard, glancing at Ryan, who remained slumped on the patio outside. She took a step forward, her hands clasped tightly together. “Look... I was out of line. I was stressed about my mom and dad. You know how they are. They judge everything. It wasn't about you, Frank. It was about them.”
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“No, Ashley,” Dad said softly, putting his glasses back on. “It was entirely about me. Or rather, it was about how little value you place on the person providing your life. You’ve lived here for two years without contributing a single dollar. You saved your salaries, you posted pictures of my kitchen like you bought it with your own hard work, and the moment a man covered in grease—a man who gave you a home when you had nothing—stood in your presence, you were ashamed of him.”
“We’ll pay rent!” Ashley blurted out, panic finally breaking through her pride. “We’ll start paying market rate tomorrow! We can sign a lease! Just... please don’t kick us out. Where are we supposed to go? Rents in this city are insane!”
