Chapter 7 - Chloe's Awakening
Rehab for a spoiled lifestyle is painful, and Chloe learned that the hard way.
Without my father’s credit cards and without my secret allowance backing the family, Chloe’s high-flying lifestyle completely evaporated. Her friends—who had only stuck around for her lavish parties and luxury trips—quickly distanced themselves once her social media reputation took a hit.
Three weeks after Dad was discharged from the hospital, I was working late in my office when my assistant notified me that someone was waiting in the lobby.
It was Chloe.
She wasn't wearing her usual designer labels. She wore a simple black sweater, jeans, and sneakers. She looked tired, her face devoid of heavy makeup, carrying a modest backpack.
"Can I come in?" she asked quietly from the office doorway.
"Go ahead," I said, leaning back in my desk chair.
She walked in slowly, looking around the office again, but this time without the bitterness or arrogance she had shown before. She sat down across from me, keeping her eyes fixed on her lap.
"I got a job," she said softly.
I raised an eyebrow. "Doing what?"
"Assistant manager at a local boutique," she revealed. "It pays $18 an hour. It’s... hard work. Standing on my feet for eight hours, dealing with rude customers, folding clothes."
She looked up at me, her eyes glistening with genuine tears.
"I hated you so much on Christmas night, James," she admitted, her voice trembling. "I thought you were trying to ruin my life because you were jealous of how much Mom and Dad loved me."
"I was never jealous of the love, Chloe," I said gently. "I was hurt by the inequality."
"I see that now," she whispered, a tear spilling down her cheek. "When I was working at the store yesterday, a girl came in with her parents. They bought her a $3,000 coat without even looking at the price, while her brother stood in the corner carrying all their bags, totally ignored. And... I saw us. I saw how horrible I was to you."
She pulled a small, brown paper bag from her backpack and placed it on my desk.
"I bought this with my very first paycheck," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It’s not much. It’s definitely not a Lexus."
I opened the bag. Inside was a hand-painted ceramic coffee mug. On the side, written in delicate, gold lettering, were the words:
To my brother: Thank you for teaching me how to stand.
May you like
A lump formed in my throat. I picked up the mug, feeling its rough texture, looking at my sister who had finally, truly grown up.
"Thank you, Chloe," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "This is the best gift you've ever given me."
