mentioned the grocery account was running low.
Nobody called me dead weight when the bank threatened foreclosure.
“I’ve been contributing,” I said.
Dylan laughed.
“Freelance drafting from your laptop isn’t the same thing as having a real corporate career.”
I nearly corrected him.
I almost explained that my supposedly meaningless freelance work included commercial developments worth millions.
But I stopped myself.
I looked at Mom.
At Dad.
At Chloe, who still couldn’t be bothered to lower her phone.
They weren’t questioning my contribution because they wanted answers. They had already
