chapter 3

When Jake was four years old, Matthew had fallen from a building and died.

Barbara used taking care of Jake as an excuse to stay home instead of getting a job.

I felt sorry for her—losing her husband so young—and since we were family, I helped support them.

I paid for everything—their living expenses, Jake's school fees, all of it came from my bank account.

Later, Barbara said the house downtown was closer to Jake's school, so for convenience, she and Jake moved in with me.

From that point on, not only did I cover all their expenses, but I basically became their live-in housekeeper too.

Even after everything I did for them, she never showed an ounce of gratitude.

She constantly bossed me around and treated me like hired help. And in the end, her selfishness had gotten me killed.

Looking back, I realized I had been way too nice. That was why she thought everything I did was just what she deserved.

"Matthew's ashes are right there—if you have complaints, take them up with him!" I pointed casually toward Matthew's urn.

She froze for a moment, then her face twisted with anger. "Real nice, Ophelia. This is how you treat your own brother's wife."

Her expression was absolutely murderous as she spun around and stormed toward the door. She slammed it so hard against the wall that the whole house shook.

I called after her retreating figure, "Barbara, from now on, stop using my name and my number for your deliveries. If you don't, I'll have to ask you to move out!"

After she left, I sent the video I'd recorded and photos of the delivery packaging to the seller.

I explained the whole situation—how Barbara had been using my information to make fraudulent returns without my knowledge.

The seller's anger had cooled down considerably by then. They just typed back a simple message, "Please talk to her and make sure she doesn't pull this crap again."

I quickly replied that I would handle it.

With that crisis finally resolved, I felt like I could breathe again.

That evening, when Jake came home from school, he quietly asked where his mom had gone.

I kept my voice gentle. "Your mom stepped out for a bit."

Jake fidgeted with his backpack straps, his fluffy hair falling over his eyes as he mumbled a soft "Oh." Then, he shuffled off to his room.

My heart ached watching my little nephew like that.

Jake used to be such a bright, outgoing kid. But after Matthew died, everything changed.

He became withdrawn and quiet, barely spoke to anyone, and spent most of his time locked in his room. Nothing we said could draw him out.

Even his teacher had pulled me aside to suggest we might want to consider having another child. She was worried Jake might develop depression if things continued this way.

That night, Barbara still hadn't come home. But someone knocked on my bedroom door.

It was Jake, standing there in his blue striped pajamas, clutching his pillow and looking nervous.

"Why aren't you asleep yet, sweetie?" I asked.

"Aunt Ophelia, I want to ask you something."

"What's wrong?" I got up and knelt down beside him, concerned by the look on his face.

"If Grandma did something bad, would you forgive her?"

His question caught me completely off guard. I hadn't expected him to ask me something like that.

The truth was, I didn't have a great relationship with my family—I hadn't even been home in two years.

It was a strange question, but I smiled and ruffled his hair anyway. "Of course I'd forgive her. Grandma is my mom, Jake. She's family forever."

Jake immediately dropped his head, and I could sense something was really bothering him.

"What's going on, buddy? Did your mom do something wrong?"

He just shook his head and stayed silent.

He didn't want to talk about it, and I wasn't going to push him. When he was ready, he'd tell me.

"Jake, this is actually pretty simple," I said, taking his hand and placing it over his heart. "Just ask yourself—do you really want to give him another chance to make things right?"

He stayed quiet for a long time, then finally nodded.

"Thanks, Aunt Ophelia."

After Jake left, I couldn't fall back asleep.