The explosion happened on Sunday. Mrs. Higgins called my parents and Abigail into her office. She didn’t offer them a check. Instead, she laid my spreadsheet and the court documents on the table.
“We cannot help those who refuse to help themselves,” Mrs. Higgins said, pointing to the $8,500 figure. My father stared at the paper. He had been working 14-hour days while his daughter sat on a fortune.
Abigail tried to stutter an excuse, but the evidence was undeniable. The church denied the funding. The illusion of the “poor victim” was shattered instantly. My parents looked at her not with pity, but with horror.
They realized they had evicted the daughter who saved them to shelter the daughter who was bleeding them dry. The drive home must have been silent and terrifying. The truth had finally come out.