Every morning I wake up at 6 o’clock. Old habits die hard, especially when you’ve lived 77 years. I hear the refrigerator door slam and the kitchen Gina is packing breakfast for her husband Noah.

40 minutes later, she knocks on my door not out of politeness but to make sure I didn’t die in my sleep. I slowly sit up on the bed feeling my joints aching. My room is on the first floor, a former guest bedroom, remodeled for me when I moved in with my daughter five years ago.

Moved in is a funny word. I’ve actually always lived in this house, it’s just that no one knows it. The knock on the door is right on schedule.

Earl? You’re not dead? Gina’s voice sounds more annoyed than concerned. Not yet, I answer, as I do every morning. Breakfast is in 20 minutes.

Don’t be late. I hear her leave without waiting for an answer. Gina is my youngest daughter, 42 years old and has always been a difficult child.

Her mother, my late wife Vivian, died when Gina was only 15. Maybe that’s the reason for her coldness. She blames me for staying alive and her mother not.

Or maybe she’s just that kind of person. I gave up looking for an explanation a long time ago. I dress slowly, choosing a clean, long-sleeved shirt.

It’s always cold in the house. Gina saves money on heating, even though her husband Noah makes a good living as a financial analyst. They’re both obsessed with savings.

Every dime in the account, every extra thing in question. Sometimes I think they’d know a lot about money if they ever really needed it. I look in the mirror, a thin old man with thinning gray hair and deep wrinkles around his eyes.

My electrician’s hands are blistered and scarred from minor burns. 45 years I worked as an electrical engineer at the city’s power plant. Honest work, steady pay, modest pension.

At least that’s what everyone thinks. The secret I’ve kept for 20 years sometimes seems heavier than all the electrical cables I’ve ever laid. In 2005, I won the lottery $1,800,000.

I didn’t tell anyone. Not my wife. She was already sick at the time.

Not my kids. Especially the kids. I have two of them.

Gina and my oldest son Weston. Both spoiled, both in constant need of money. Every time Vivian and I helped them financially, they would come back for more.

I knew that if they found out about the winnings, they would squander it in a few years and then blame me for not having enough money. So I did the only sensible thing. I kept quiet.

Put the money in an account at a good interest rate. And a year later, when Vivian was gone, I bought this house in Slidell for $600,000. Three stories.

Spacious. In a nice neighborhood. But instead of listing it, I told the kids I found a good rental.

Earl, you’re late, shouts Gina from downstairs. I leave the room and slowly make my way down to the kitchen. Noah is already sitting at the table, staring at his clipboard.

He barely nods at me. Our relationship is correct, but cold. To him, I’m just his wife’s father.

An old man who has to be tolerated. Good morning, I say, sitting down in my usual seat. Gina puts a bowl of oatmeal in front of me.

It’s the same everyday oatmeal on water. No butter with half a banana. For your health, she says, even though we both know it’s about saving money.

You haven’t forgotten that Weston and the kids are coming over today? Gina asks, pouring herself a cup of coffee. I hope you don’t stay in your room all day like you did last time. I’m not hiding from my own son, I reply, stirring the gray mass in my plate.

Then why did you barely speak to him at Christmas? Gina crosses her arms over her chest. He thinks you don’t love him. I look up from my plate.

When was the last time he called me just to talk, not to ask for money? Noah snorts, not looking away from the screen. Gina throws him a warning glance. He’s a busy man.

He’s got his own logistics company, two kids, and yet he always has time to call when he needs money for a new truck or a warehouse expansion, I shrug. It’s an amazing coincidence. Gina’s face stiffens.

You’re being unfair. We all care about you. Who took you in when you couldn’t live alone anymore? Who cooks your meals, does your laundry, takes you to the doctor? I live in my own house, not yours, I want to say…

But I just nod, as I’ve done hundreds of times before. I’m grateful for the roof over my head. Exactly.

Gina nods contentedly, considering the discussion over. At that moment, Avery, my granddaughter, enters the kitchen. Nineteen years old, a freshman at the local college, she’s the only one in this house who sometimes talks to me out of obligation.

Good morning, everyone. She smiles and comes over to kiss my cheek. How did you sleep, Grandpa? The usual, dear.

Half the night counting sheep, the other half counting my sore feet. Avery laughs and I notice Gina roll her eyes. She’s never understood my sense of humor.

Are you going to class today? I ask my granddaughter. Yeah, until three. Then I have to work at the coffee shop until eight.

She pours herself a cup of coffee and takes an apple from the vase. I can pick you up tomorrow if you want to take a walk in the park. Avery, Grandpa has more important things to do.

Gina intervenes. The plumber’s coming tomorrow to check out his bathroom. It’s always leaking.

I can do both, I say. Plumbers usually come in the morning. We don’t know the exact time, Gina says.

You’d better be home all day. I don’t argue. It’s no use.

Gina always has a reason why I should stay home. I think she’s afraid I’ll die on the street somewhere and she’ll have to deal with the consequences. Avery throws her mother a disgruntled look, but she, too, remains silent.

She’s learned to pick her battles. Okay, I gotta go, she finishes her coffee in one gulp. I’ll see you tonight.

She kisses me on the cheek again and skips out of the kitchen. The front door slams and it’s as if the house is getting colder. Noah rises from the table, gathering his things.

Don’t forget to check the electric bill, he tells Gina. It was suspiciously high last month. His gaze stops on me for a moment and I realize what he’s thinking.

The old man sits at home all day burning electricity. I hardly ever turn on the lights, I say, and I only watch TV in the evenings. No one’s blaming you, Earl, Noah puts on a fake smile.

It’s just that the bills are mounting and your pension isn’t exactly a rubber band, is it? I nod, thinking about my bank account, which has over a million dollars in it, money that no one knows about. Sometimes I wonder why I keep that secret. But then I remember the look in Gina’s eyes when she talks about the money, greedy, calculating, or Weston’s phone calls, always starting with, and ending with a request to borrow a few thousand.

When Noah leaves, Gina starts clearing the table. Do you remember to pay the rent on Monday? she asks, without looking at me. I remember, I answer.

Every month I pay rent. I transfer $2,000 into Gina’s account, money she thinks of as rent to the landlord. In reality, I’m just moving funds between my accounts.

I’m the landlord. And don’t forget the utilities, she adds. This month your share is $350.

I nod silently. My share keeps going up, even though I use minimal electricity and water. Gina thinks it’s fair.

After all, I live in their house, use their benefits. After breakfast, I go back to my room. It’s small, but cozy.

A bed, a desk, a chair by the window, a bookshelf with detectives, which I re-read in a circle. On the table, an old radio receiver, which I restored with my own hands. One of the few pleasures I have left is fixing old electronics.

I sit in the chair and look out the window at the backyard. Spring in Slidell was always beautiful. Magnolias blooming, fresh greenery, birds returning from the south.

Vivian loved this time of year. We would often sit on the back porch of our old house, drinking tea and just watching nature. Sometimes I think she wouldn’t have approved of my lies.

Vivian was always straightforward, honest to the point of ruthlessness. Earl Cunningham, she would say, you’ve turned into a secretive old fox. But then I remember how worried she was about Weston and Gina, how she cried when they came for money again, not interested in her health.

We’ve raised selfish people, she told me once, and I thought maybe she would understand. The sound of a car pulling up pulls me out of my musings. I look out the window.

Weston’s black SUV. My son gets out of the car, followed by his wife Lauren and two teenage children, Ethan and Cora. They rarely visit, even though they live only 20 minutes away.

Weston is 50, but he looks older, full, balding, perpetually tense. His logistics company has been teetering on the brink of bankruptcy for years, but he still buys expensive cars and sends his kids to private schools. I leave the room and go to meet them.

Gina is already opening the door, hugging her brother. Weston, I’m so glad you’re here. Her voice goes up an octave as she speaks to her brother.

Kids, how you’ve grown. The teens mumble greetings without taking their eyes off their phones. Lauren hugs Gina and they exchange compliments.

Then Weston spots me. Hi, Dad. He walks over and awkwardly hugs me.

How’s your health? Still alive, I answer with a smile. It’s good to see you, son. We walk into the living room.

The kids immediately plop down on the couch, staring at their phones. Lauren and Gina retire to the kitchen, discussing some new diet plan. Weston and I are alone.

How’s business? I ask, even though I already know the answer. It’s tough, he sighs. There’s more competition, and customers are demanding more and more for the same money.

You know, Dad, I was thinking. He lowers his voice. Do you have some spare cash? I need to upgrade my truck fleet or we’re going to lose the Blue Ridge shipping contract.

There it is. It hasn’t been five minutes. Weston, you know my situation.

I’m living on my pension, paying Gina’s room and utilities. I know. I know.

He nods quickly. But maybe you have some savings. Something set aside for a rainy day? I’ll pay it back with interest once the contract starts making a profit.

I look at my son, who is fifty years old, and I see the same boy who asked for money for a new bike because the old one wasn’t cool enough. Same look. Same intonation.

No, Weston, I don’t have any savings. His face darkens. I see.

Well, I was just asking. The rest of the visit passes in a tense atmosphere. Weston barely speaks to me.

The children ignore my existence altogether. After lunch, they quickly pack up and leave, citing some urgent business. As the door closes behind them, Gina turns to me.

What did you say to him? He looked upset. The truth. That I didn’t have the money to sponsor his business.

Gina shakes her head. Do you have to be so… callous? He’s your son. He’s trying to keep the business afloat.

And I’m trying to make it to the end of the month on my pension, I pairing. Which, by the way, I’m partially giving to you. Gina presses her lips into a thin line.

You live in my house. You use my food and electricity. It would be weird if you didn’t pay, wouldn’t it? In your house, I think to myself.

How easily she has appropriated my property. How confidently she talks about how I should pay for the right to live in the house I bought with my own money. Of course, I say out loud.

All is fair. In the evening, when the house is quiet, I sit in my room and listen to old jazz on the radio. Quietly, so as not to disturb Gina and Noah.

Over the wall, I can hear them discussing my stubbornness and ingratitude. How I don’t help my own son, even though I must have stashed something. I look at my reflection in the windowpane.

An old man with a bitter smile. Twenty years I’ve kept a secret. Twenty years I’ve lived a double life.

Sometimes I ask myself. Was it worth it? Would it have been better to tell the truth from the beginning? But then I remember the greedy gleam in Weston’s eyes. Gina’s cold calculation.

And I realize, no, I did the right thing. The money wouldn’t have made them better. It would have disappeared faster than I could blink.

It’s times like this that I especially miss Vivian. She was always my compass, my conscience. What would she say now? Would she support me or condemn me? Avery gets home around nine.

I hear her knocking quietly on my door. Grandpa? Are you awake? Come on in, sweetheart, I answer. She slips into the room, tired after a long day, but still finds the strength to smile…

How was your day, she asks, sitting down on the edge of my bed. Your uncle came by, I answer. He asked for money for trucks.

Avery rolls her eyes. The usual. He never just shows up, does he? I shrug.

He’s got his own problems. That’s no excuse to use you, she frowns. Mom’s the same way.

They both think you owe them something. Sometimes it amazes me how perceptive Avery is. She sees things in her 19 that adults in their 40s and 50s don’t.

Your mom takes care of me, I say, even though we both know that’s not entirely true. She cares about the money you pay her. Avery shakes her head.

I’m sorry, I don’t mean to speak ill of Mom, but she could treat you better. I smile and take her hand. You remind me of your grandmother.

She always told the truth, too, even when it was inconvenient. Avery smiles. I wish I could remember her.

I was only four when she died. She would have been proud of you, I say. You’re the only one in this family who isn’t obsessed with money.

Maybe because I’ve never had a lot of it, she laughs. It’s hard to become obsessed with something you don’t have. We talk some more about her studies, about her job at the coffee shop, about the book she’s reading now.

Then she yawns and gets up. It’s time for me to go to bed. I have to get up early tomorrow.

She leans over and kisses me on the cheek. Good night, Grandpa. Don’t let them hurt you.

When she leaves, I sit in the chair for a long time staring into the darkness outside the window. It’s times like this that I think maybe I should at least tell Avery the truth. She deserves to know that one day she’ll inherit a small fortune from her poor grandfather.

But then she’d have to keep my secret from her own parents, and that’s not fair to her. No, it’s better to wait. A few more years and she’ll be out of college, back on her feet.

Then maybe it’ll be time for the truth. In the meantime, I will continue to play the role of the old man who lives on a pension and depends on his daughter’s generosity. I’ll pay rent on my own house and endure the leering looks when I turn on the lights during the day.

It’s a strange life, full of lies and pretense, but it’s my choice, my defense, and as long as I can sit in the silence of my room listening to jazz and remembering Vivian, I can live with it. Sunday morning greeted me with a headache. I woke up to the sound of a lawnmower outside my window.

The neighbor across the street always mows his lawn at 8 a.m. sharp on Sundays, regardless of the season. I struggled to sit up on the bed, reaching for the pills I always keep on my nightstand. At my age, pills are becoming as much a part of life as coffee in the morning.

Through the wall, I could hear Gina and Noah talking in the kitchen. Their voices sounded muffled, but I could distinguish the words bills and problems. They’re talking about money again.

Gina is obsessed with saving money, even though she and Noah make enough. Sometimes I think it’s the only topic they really care about. I slowly got dressed and left the room.

The conversation in the kitchen stopped momentarily when I appeared in the doorway. Good morning, I said as I headed for the coffee maker. Gina was sitting at the table with a calculator and a stack of papers, bills, receipts, bank statements.

Noah stood by the window with his arms folded across his chest. Earl, we were just talking about you, Noah said in his business-like tone. Did you remember your rent is due tomorrow? I poured myself a cup of coffee, trying not to sound annoyed.

It’s the same thing every month. I didn’t forget. I’ll wire the money today.

Also, Noah continued, the electricity rate went up again. Your share this month will be $400. I almost choked on my coffee.

$400? Last month it was $350. Inflation, Earl, Noah said, as if he were explaining the obvious to a child. Everything’s getting more expensive.

Plus, you’ve been spending more time at home, watching TV, turning on lights. I hardly ever watch TV, I objected, and I only turn on the lights when I really have to. The meter doesn’t lie, Gina intervened, keeping her eyes on her paperwork.

If you think it’s too much, we can install a separate meter for your room. I knew it was useless to argue. They would always find a way to squeeze more money out of me, even if they had to distort the truth to do it.

I had long suspected that they were overcharging me for my share of the utility bills, but there was no way to prove it. All right, I finally said, $400 is $400. Gina nodded contentedly, as if she’d just won an important deal.

Noah patted me on the shoulder with fake concern. We all have to tighten our belts, man. Times are tough.

I nodded silently, thinking about the million in my account. Tough times. If only they knew.

After breakfast, I went out into the yard to stretch a little. It was a warm day, and the neighbors were out on their lawns, some tending to their flowers, some washing their cars. The normal life of normal people.

I wonder if they have such a complicated relationship with their kids, too. Or was it just me who was so lucky? I walked slowly down the sidewalk, enjoying the sun on my face. The houses in our neighborhood are large, well-maintained, with perfect lawns and neatly trimmed bushes.

Typical middle class, striving to look richer than they really are. My house is one of the largest on the street, three stories high, with a spacious front porch and a backyard overlooking a small pond. It’s a nice house.

It’s just too bad it doesn’t have happiness in it. Mr. Cunningham, good morning. I turned around and saw Harper Dwight, our neighbor on the right.

He’s a friendly man in his fifties, works for an insurance company. We sometimes say a few words when we meet on the street. Good morning, Harper, I said.

It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? Delicious. He came closer, lowering his voice. Have you heard the news? The Browns are selling their house.

They’re asking almost a million. Really? I wasn’t particularly interested in neighborhood gossip, but I kept up the conversation out of courtesy. Yeah, and you know what? It’s been seen a few times already.

Harper was clearly enjoying his role as informant. The realtor says there’s a lot of interest. Our neighborhood’s getting more and more popular.

Prices are skyrocketing. I nodded, thinking about my own house. If the Browns can ask a million for a house smaller than mine, how much is my property worth now? When I bought it 20 years ago, I paid $600,000.

The real estate market in Slidell has gone up a lot since then. Have you thought of selling? Harper asked suddenly. It’s such a big house for the three of you.

It must be hard to keep it in order. I smiled. It’s not mine, Harper.

I’m just renting a room from my daughter. It was a standard lie I’d been repeating for years. Sometimes I started to believe it myself.

Oh, yes, of course, Harper nodded. I’m sorry, I forgot. Well, tell your daughter that if she ever decides to sell, I know a great realtor.

My brother-in-law, actually. He specializes in high-end real estate. I’ll be sure to tell her.

I lied and said goodbye to Harper, continuing my walk. The thought of selling my house had never seriously crossed my mind before. Why sell the place I’d lived in for so many years? But now, after my conversation with Harper, the idea was lodged in my mind.

What if I do sell the house? What would Gina do when the real owner decided to put the property on the market? I chuckled as I pictured her face. But then my thoughts took a more serious turn. Why not? Why don’t I sell the house and start living my own life, without constant reproaches, without having to pay for the right to live in my own house, without daily humiliation? Vivian would call it petty revenge.

She had always been above such things. Earl, she would have said, you’re becoming just like them. But maybe this time she would understand.

Maybe, seeing the way Gina treated me, she’d approve of my decision. I remembered how Vivian and I had met at a dance at the local club in 1968. I was 20.

She was 19. She was the prettiest girl in the room, tall with brown hair and a laugh that made everyone around her smile. We married a year later, bought a little house on the outskirts of Slidell.

I worked as an electrician. She as a school teacher. We were happy, despite our modest income.

And then the kids were born, first Weston, then Gina, and everything changed. They never appreciated what they had. They always wanted more.

Weston demanded expensive toys. Gina demanded fancy clothes. Vivian and I worked overtime to make sure they had everything they needed.

But it was never enough. And when Vivian got sick, they didn’t even bother to visit her regularly in the hospital, too busy with their own lives. I sighed, coming back to reality.

The walk took me to a small park at the end of the street. I sat down on a bench watching the ducks on the pond. What would Vivian say about my current life? Would she approve of my lies? Probably not.

Vivian always preferred straightforwardness. Tell them the truth, Earl, she would probably advise. Stop hiding.

But it was too late for the truth. Too many years had passed. Too many lies had accumulated.

If I confessed now, they would never forgive me for my deception. Not that I particularly valued their forgiveness, but the thought of more family discord was hard. When I got home for dinner, I found Gina in a foul mood.

She was thrashing around the kitchen, slamming cabinet doors loudly. What’s wrong? I asked her gently. The boiler broke, she said.

Again. Third time this year. This house just eats up money.

I sat at the table watching her fumbling. Maybe I should call another handyman. The one who came last time didn’t inspire confidence.

Gina turned to me sharply. You’re an expert on boilers now? Her voice oozed sarcasm. Or maybe you’ve got spare money for a new handyman.

I remained silent, knowing that any answer would only add fuel to the fire. Exactly, she continued. You sit here, criticizing.

And who’s going to pay? Me and Noah, as always. Do you know how much it costs to run this house? Do you know how much we spend on repairs, insurance, taxes? Yes, I do, I wanted to say. I’ve been paying for it for twenty years.

Instead, I just nodded. I understand it’s expensive. You don’t understand anything, Gina sat across from me, folding her arms across her chest.

You live here, you have all the amenities, and all you have to do is pay your share on time. But even that’s a problem. I always pay on time, I objected, feeling the anger boiling up inside me…

Yes, but that’s not good enough, she raised her voice. Prices are going up, Earl. We can’t subsidize your life anymore.

Subsidize? Now it was my turn to raise my voice. I pay two grand for a room, and four hundred for utilities. That’s more than my pension.

Where do you think the rest of the money comes from? Gina was almost screaming. Does it fall out of the sky? No, it’s me and Noah working our asses off to pay for this house. I took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

This conversation was going nowhere but another fight. I can increase my share if I need to, I said finally, or I could look for another place to live. Gina snorted.

And where will you go? Who would rent to a 77-year-old man with a meager pension? You realize we didn’t take you in because of the money, but because you’re our father. That doesn’t mean you can sit on our necks. Taken in.

Those words cut like a knife. Every time Gina said them, I felt like a stray dog that had been taken in out of pity. At that moment, Noah walked into the kitchen, fresh from a run.

He immediately sensed the tension. What’s going on? The boiler’s broken, Gina replied, and Earl thinks we should spend even more money on expensive handymen. I didn’t say that, I countered.

I was just making a suggestion. It doesn’t matter what you suggested, Noah interrupted. The fact is, it’s getting more expensive to run this house, and your contribution is the same.

It’s not fair to us. I just told Gina I’m willing to increase my share, I replied, feeling like I was being backed into a corner. By how much? Noah asked, businesslike.

Another 500 a month would cover the increase in expenses. I swallowed. Another 500? That would be nearly impossible on my pension.

Sure, I had money in my account, but they didn’t know that. Yep, I need to think about it, I said finally. This is a serious promotion.

Think fast, Noah cut me off. The bills won’t wait. He left the kitchen, leaving me alone with Gina.

She looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite pinpoint, a mixture of disappointment, annoyance, and maybe a dash of pity. You realize we’re not going to kick you out on the street, she said more quietly, but you have to pay your fair share. This is adult life, dad.

Nothing comes for free. Adult life. I’m 77 years old, I’ve worked all my life, buried my wife, raised two kids, and she’s telling me about adult life.

I know, I replied, holding back my anger. I’ll think about your offer. The next day, on my usual walk, I saw the realtor outside the Browns’ house.

A tall man in an expensive suit was putting up a for sale sign on the lawn. Without knowing why, I approached him. Hello, I said.

Are you selling the Browns’ house? The man turned around and gave me a professional smile. That’s right, Raymond Prescott, Slidell Luxury Real Estate. He handed me a business card.

Are you interested in buying? I grinned. No, just curious. I live in the neighborhood, I pointed to my house.

Over there, Raymond whistled. That’s a great house, one of the best in the neighborhood. If you ever want to sell, be sure to come to me.

With a property like that, you can get a great price in the current climate. Really? I acted surprised. How much do you think it could be worth? Raymond squinted his eyes, assessing the house from afar.

It’s hard to say for sure without an inspection, but given the location, the size, and the current market, I’d say at least $850,000, maybe even $900,000 if everything inside is in good condition. I whistled, feigning shock. Wow.

Is this a good time to sell? The best time in years, Raymond said confidently. Demand is huge, offers are low. Homes in this neighborhood are going in a matter of days, often above asking price.

If you have any interest… No, no, I replied hastily. The house isn’t mine. I just live there with my daughter.

She’s the owner. I see, Raymond nodded. Well, if your daughter ever thinks about selling, here’s my card.

I can arrange a free appraisal. I took the card and put it in my pocket, thanking him. The rest of the day, I thought about the conversation with the realtor.

$850,000, maybe even $900,000. Considerably more than I’d paid 20 years ago. Money that would ensure that I could live comfortably for the rest of my days without having to account to Gina and Noah for every dime I spent.

That evening, when everyone had gone to bed, I pulled out Raymond’s business card and stared at it for a long time. Then I took out my cell phone and saved the number, just in case, I told myself, just to know I had a choice. The next few days passed in relative peace.

Gina was busy at work, Noah was away on a business trip, and Avery spent most of her time at college or at work. I enjoyed the rare moments of solitude, listening to jazz, reading books, fiddling with my old radio. But on Thursday night, the storm broke again.

Gina came home from work in a terrible mood. I was sitting in the kitchen drinking tea and reading the paper when she came in and threw her bag on the table. Did you wire the rent money? She asked without greeting.

Yes, back on Monday, I replied, keeping my eyes on the paper. And the extra? I looked up. What extra? We talked about increasing your share.

Gina folded her arms across her chest. Another 500 a month. You said you’d think about it.

I did, I said calmly. I’ve decided I can’t afford the increase. My pension isn’t exactly rubber.

Gina’s face turned red. So you expect us to keep covering your expenses? That’s not fair, Earl. I’m paying a fair price for a room, I objected, feeling my blood pressure rising.

Two thousand dollars for a small bedroom is more than market value. It’s not just the room, Gina raised her voice. You’re using the kitchen, the living room, the garden.

You consume electricity, water, gas. You… I pay for the utilities separately, I interrupted. And the sums keep going up, even though I use almost nothing.

You use more than you think, Gina countered. And even if you weren’t, the real estate itself is getting more expensive. Taxes go up.

Insurance goes up. Someone has to pay for all this. I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

I realize it’s expensive to maintain a house. But I can’t pay more than I am now. If you need extra money, maybe you should talk to Weston.

He could… Weston? Gina laughed a bitter laugh. Are you serious? He’s got his own problems. And unlike you, he has real expenses.

The kids, the business, the mortgage. I have expenses too, I said quietly. Drugs, doctors, which are mostly covered by health insurance, Gina cut me off.

Don’t play poor, Earl. We both know you should have savings. You’ve worked your whole life, lived modestly.

Where did all the money go? I was silent, not knowing what to say. Should I tell the truth? Admit that I had millions in my account? Or continue the lie I’d maintained for two decades? I spent most of my savings on your mother’s treatment, I finally said. It was a half-truth.

Vivian’s treatment had indeed been expensive, though it hadn’t exhausted my funds. The rest went to everyday expenses. Life is expensive, Gina.

Especially when you’re old and sick. Gina looked at me in disbelief. I don’t believe you, she said bluntly.

You’re hiding something. I always have. But you know what? It’s not my problem anymore.

She came closer, hovering over me. I’ll tell you what, Dad. Either you increase your share by $500 a month, or you look for another place to live.

I’m no longer going to subsidize your life at the expense of my family’s well-being. I looked at her, my youngest daughter, the one I once carried in my arms, the one I read bedtime stories to, the one I bought ice cream for at the park on Sundays. Now she stood before me like a stranger, cold and calculating.

Are you kicking me out? I asked quietly. I’m setting fair terms, she replied. This is business, Earl.

It’s nothing personal. Nothing personal. My own daughter tells me that evicting her own father is nothing personal.

I get it, I said, getting up from the table. Give me a week to decide. There’s nothing to decide, Gina cut me off…

Pay the rent, or get out. Her words hung in the air, razor sharp. I walked silently out of the kitchen and into my room.

When I closed the door behind me, I took Raymond Prescott’s business card out of my pocket and stared at it for a long time. Then I took out my cell phone and dialed the number. Mr. Prescott? This is Earl Cunningham.

We spoke the other day outside the Brown house. Yes, that’s right. I’d like to talk to you about the possibility of selling my house.

I didn’t wait the week I’d allotted myself. The very next morning, after the fight with Gina, I started packing. There wasn’t much.

Clothes, a few books, an old radio, pictures of Vivian, personal papers. My whole life fit into two suitcases in a cardboard box. A sad summation of 77 years on this earth.

Gina was at work as I finished packing. Avery came into my room, saw the suitcases, and froze in the doorway. Grandpa? What’s going on? Her voice shook.

I looked at my granddaughter, the only person in this house who truly cared about me. I’m moving out, honey, I replied, trying to sound calm. Your mom gave me an ultimatum yesterday.

Either I increase the rent or I leave. I can’t afford to pay more, so the choice is obvious. Avery came over and sat on the bed next to me.

This isn’t right, she said quietly. She can’t do this to you. You’re her father.

I took her hand. In some families, it didn’t matter, sweetheart. Money was more important than blood ties.

Where are you going to go? There were tears in her eyes. I found a small apartment downtown, I answered. It’s modest, but it’s enough for me alone.

Don’t worry, I won’t stay on the street. In fact, I’d taken care of the apartment in advance. I’d called the real estate agency a week ago, as if anticipating the end of my conflict with Gina.

The apartment was small, in an old house near the center of Slidell, but clean and fully furnished. The rent was $1,200 a month, considerably less than I was paying Gina for a room in my own house. I’ll come visit you, Avery promised, hugging me tightly.

I’ll be waiting, I smiled. Don’t tell your mother I gave you the address. Let her think I disappeared from her life like she wanted me to.

Avery nodded, though I could see she was having a hard time being between us. Nineteen was too young an age to be torn between love for her grandfather and loyalty to her mother. The cab arrived at noon.

I took one last look around the room I’d lived in for the past five years, pretending to be a poor old man, dependent on my daughter’s favor. The irony of the situation didn’t escape me. I was leaving my own home, kicked out by a woman who didn’t even realize she was living under my roof.

Avery helped me carry my things to my car and gave me a big hug goodbye. I’ll call you tomorrow, she said. I’ll be waiting, I replied, and got into the cab.

As we drove away, I looked back at the house. A big, beautiful house, bought with money that had fallen on me like manna from heaven twenty years ago. A house that would soon no longer be mine.

The apartment was exactly what I expected. Typical housing for a single retiree on a tight budget. A small bedroom, a tiny living room combined with the kitchen, a bathroom where you can barely turn around.

Everything is old, but clean and functional. I laid out my things, put Vivian’s picture on the bedside table, and sat down in the worn armchair by the window. A strange feeling swept over me.

A mixture of sadness, relief, and determination. I was saddened by the way things had turned out with my daughter, but at the same time glad that I no longer had to pretend and endure daily humiliation. Also, I was determined to follow through with the plan that had matured in my head.

The next day, I met Raymond Prescott at a cafe near my new apartment. He was surprised when I called him. Even more surprised when I told him the house belonged to me, not my daughter.

But his professional composure quickly returned to him. Mr. Cunningham, he extended his hand to me. I’m glad you decided to use my services.

I must say, your house is a real gem in the Slidell real estate market. I nodded, sipping my coffee. I want to sell it quickly and quietly, I said.

There’s one delicate detail. My daughter and her family, who live in the house, don’t know I own it. Raymond raised his eyebrows, but didn’t ask any questions.

I understand. Family circumstances can be difficult, but that’s not a problem. We can handle all transactions confidentially.

However, the buyers will need to see the house. I know, I interrupted. You can tell your daughter that the current owner has decided to sell the house and that she will have a standard eviction period after the deal is finalized.

She doesn’t need to know that the owner is me. Raymond tapped his fingers on the table thoughtfully. It’s possible.

We could do the sale through a trust or a limited liability company to hide your name. But let me ask you, are you sure you want to go that route? Family secrets tend to come out at the worst possible time. I chuckled.

This particular secret had been kept for 20 years. A couple more months won’t make a difference. Whatever you say.

Raymond nodded. Now about the price. After a preliminary appraisal and market analysis, I believe we can list your house for $890,000.

That’s an aggressive but realistic price, given the current demand. I nodded. That sounds reasonable, but I’d like to set a minimum acceptable price of $840,000.

If an offer of that amount or higher comes in, I’ll agree to sell immediately. Raymond smiled. You know a lot about real estate, Mr. Cunningham.

$840,000 is a good threshold. I’m pretty sure we’ll get offers higher, but this gives us a clear target. We discussed the details, agency commission, showing schedule, marketing strategy.

Raymond was professional in his work, explained everything clearly and without too much water. By the end of the meeting, I had the impression that I was in good hands. I’ll have the documents ready by the end of the week, Raymond said, saying goodbye.

In the meantime, I’ll take pictures and a virtual tour. When would it be convenient to show me the inside of the house? My daughter works weekdays from 9 to 5, I said. That would be the best time.

I’ll give you the key. Raymond nodded and we parted. I went back to my small apartment, feeling strangely relieved.

The wheel had turned. Soon my plan of revenge would become a reality. In the evening, Gina called.

I didn’t answer right away, staring at the blinking phone screen. Part of me wanted to ignore her calls for the rest of my life, but I knew that would only delay the inevitable. Besides, I was curious what she would say.

Hello, I finally answered. Earl? Where are you? Her voice sounded annoyed, but I could detect a note of concern. Someplace safe, I answered evasively.

You moved out without even saying goodbye. Did you? I come home and you’re gone. Your stuff’s gone.

Avery said you took a cab and left. What did you expect, Gina? You literally kicked me out of the house. I did not kick you out.

I didn’t kick you out. I just said you should pay your fair share. Which I couldn’t afford, I reminded her.

Which is tantamount to eviction. There was silence on the line. Then Gina sighed.

Look, maybe I was too harsh. We can talk about this. You shouldn’t be living alone at your age.

It’s dangerous. Ah, I thought. That’s where the dog is.

Gina wasn’t worried about me. She was worried about money. Without my rent, the family budget would be drastically reduced.

I’m doing just fine on my own, I replied. I found a small apartment that I can afford. Nothing to worry about.

But your stuff, she began. I took everything I need, I interrupted. The rest you can throw away or keep, whatever you want.

Earl, you’re being unreasonable, she said, a familiar note of superiority in her voice. You’re 77 years old. You can’t just go off and live alone.

Obviously I can, I replied. And I’m doing it. Don’t worry, Gina.

I won’t be a burden to you and Noah. That’s not the point, she exclaimed. We’re a family.

We have to stick together. Family. How conveniently she remembered that when she realized she was losing her source of income.

I’m sorry, Gina. But you shattered that illusion yourself when you gave me the ultimatum, I said calmly. I respect your decision and I’ve made mine.

I think it’s best for all of us. She tried to convince me to come back for a while longer, but I remained adamant. Finally, she gave up…

Alright, do whatever you want. But when you find it hard to live alone, don’t come crying to me. Don’t worry, I won’t, I replied and hung up.

I spent the next few days settling into my new apartment. I bought groceries, found the nearest pharmacy, studied the bus schedule. Life began to take a new direction.

Without the daily fights with Gina, without having to account for every dollar spent, without the constant feeling that you are a burden to your own children, I breathed easier. Despite the modest conditions, I felt more free than I had in years. Avery called the second day, as promised.

I gave her the address and she arrived that evening, bringing homemade cookies and a new book. How are you settling in? She asked, looking around the apartment. Quite comfortable, I replied, pouring tea.

It’s quiet. The neighbors are mostly old people like me. There’s even a small park nearby where I walk in the mornings.

Avery sat down at the small kitchen table, resting her chin on her palms. Mom’s furious, she said. At first she thought you were bluffing and would be back soon.

Now she realized you’re serious and it’s pissing her off. I grinned. I can imagine.

How did Noah react? He’s worried about money, Avery rolled her eyes. He’s still calculating how much he’ll have to pay for the house without your share. They’re both acting like you betrayed them, not the other way around.

I shook my head, but didn’t comment. I didn’t want to put my granddaughter in an even more difficult position by making her choose sides in the conflict. What about Weston? Does he know I moved out? Yeah, my mom called him.

Avery sipped her tea. He said something like, typical Earl, always thinking of himself. Sorry, Grandpa, but my uncle’s a jerk.

I laughed, openly and sincerely for the first time in a long time. Don’t apologize, honey. It’s a tough family, as they say.

We talked for almost two hours. Avery told me about college, about her part-time job at the coffee shop, about her plans for the future. She dreamed of becoming a journalist, writing about social issues.

She had big plans and a bright head. I hoped that the money she would one day get from me would help her realize those dreams. When she left, I felt the loneliness again, but it wasn’t as oppressive as before.

Now it was the calm, peaceful loneliness of a man who can finally breathe fully. Three days later, Raymond Prescott called with the news. Mr. Cunningham, we already have interested buyers, he excitedly reported.

I took photos and a virtual tour yesterday, posted the ad just this morning, and already five viewing requests. That fast? I was surprised. I told you the market is hot right now, Raymond replied, plus your house is a real gem.

Three stories in excellent condition in an upscale neighborhood. These offers are rare. We agreed on a showing schedule.

Raymond would bring potential buyers when Gina was at work. I gave him a second set of keys and warned him to be careful. Leave no signs of being there.

Lock all the doors as they were. Don’t worry, Mr. Cunningham, the realtor assured me. I’m a professional.

Your daughter won’t suspect a thing until the very last moment. The next day, Gina called again. This time her tone was softer, almost apologetic.

Earl, I’ve been thinking about our situation, she began. Maybe we can find a compromise. You could pay a little more, not the full $500, but say $250.

That’s an interesting suggestion, I replied neutrally. What’s changed? Nothing has changed, she said quickly. It’s just, you’re my father.

I don’t want you living alone in some cheap apartment. It’s not safe. I suppressed a chuckle.

Gina had never been good at lying. It was obvious that without my rent, their budget was cracking at the seams. Thanks for your concern, I said, but I’m already settled in.

I signed a six-month lease, put down a deposit. Plus, it’s quiet. No one telling me how much electricity I can use or when to turn on the heat.

Earl, be reasonable, she said, a hint of irritation in her voice. You can’t live alone. What if you fall, or you get sick at night? I have a phone for emergencies, I replied.

And I’m not as infirm as you must think I am. I can handle it. She sighed.

You’ve always been stubborn. Even Mom said you were impossible to argue with. The mention of Vivian prickled me.

Gina rarely talked about her mother as if she were trying to erase her from her memory. Vivian knew when to insist and when to back off, I said quietly. It’s a shame you didn’t inherit that trait.

The conversation ended quickly after that. Gina mumbled something about calling back later and hung up. I knew she wouldn’t give up trying to get me back.

Not because she cared, but because of the money. The week went by quickly. Raymond called every day with reports of showings and potential buyers.

Interest in the house was overwhelming. Twelve families had viewed it in the first three days, and half of them expressed serious intentions. On the seventh day after the showings began, Raymond called with the happy news.

Mr. Cunningham, we have a proposition. His voice sounded excited. Eight hundred and sixty thousand, cash.

Quick closing on the deal. The buyers are an elderly couple, recently retired, moving from New York. They loved the house, especially the view of the pond.

I felt my heart beat a little faster. Eight hundred and sixty thousand was more than I’d bargained for. Including the agency commission and taxes, I’d be left with about seven hundred fifty thousand net.

Together with my existing savings, that was more than enough to ensure a comfortable old age. I accept the offer, I said without hesitation. Good! Raymond exclaimed.

I’ll prepare the documents and contact their realtor. We can close the deal in two weeks if everything goes smoothly. What about my daughter? I asked.

When will she be notified of the sale? It’s standard procedure for the new owners to give the tenants thirty days to move out after the deal closes, Raymond said. But in this case, since the buyers want to move quickly, we can notify your daughter as soon as the preliminary contract is signed. That will give her more time to find a new place to live.

Do that, I agreed. The sooner she knows, the better. After the call, I sat in a chair by the window, looking out at the street and pondering my decision.

Part of me felt bitter and disappointed. It wasn’t how I’d envisioned my life ending. I had hoped to spend my final years with a loving family, perhaps with grandchildren visiting me every weekend, with a daughter who cared for me out of love, not money.

Instead, I was selling my house to get revenge on a woman who saw me only as a source of income. But another part of me felt a strange satisfaction. Gina would finally know the truth.

That she’d been living in my house all these years, not the other way around. That I wasn’t a helpless old man dependent on her favor. That I could have pulled the rug out from under her at any time.

And that’s exactly what I was doing now. Vivian probably wouldn’t have approved of such revenge. She always said that anger destroys the soul of the one who feels it, not the one at whom it is directed.

But Vivian didn’t see what our daughter had become since her death. Didn’t hear the cold words. Didn’t feel the scornful looks.

Hadn’t endured the humiliation day after day, year after year. I sighed, looking at my wife’s picture on the nightstand. I’m sorry, darling, I whispered.

But sometimes even the most patient people break down. The next few days passed in paperwork. I signed documents.

Answered lawyers’ questions. Submitted bank statements. Raymond handled the process skillfully, explaining each step and warning of potential pitfalls.

Gina called several times, still trying to convince me to come back. I answered evasively, not wanting to give her false hope, but not revealing my plans either. Let her find out everything from the realtor, like a regular tenant.

It would be fair. On the tenth day after I left, Raymond called with the news. Mr. Cunningham, the preliminary contract has been signed.

The buyers have put down a deposit of $86,000. Now we can officially notify your daughter of the sale. How do you plan to do that? I asked.

The standard procedure is to send a registered letter notifying her of the sale and demanding that she vacate the premises within 30 days of the closing. But in your case, I think a personal meeting will be more effective. I can stop by tomorrow and explain everything.

She’ll be furious, I warned. Don’t worry, Raymond grinned. In 15 years in this business, I’ve seen it all.

Tenant anger is a common occurrence in real estate sales. I agreed to his plan, but asked him not to reveal my involvement until the very end. Raymond promised to maintain confidentiality, but warned that at the closing of the transaction, my name will inevitably appear in the documents.

If your daughter scrutinizes the deeds, she will see that you are the seller, he said. I can’t hide that. I understand, I replied…

It won’t matter by then. The important thing is that she doesn’t know now. That evening, I couldn’t sleep for a long time, imagining Raymond coming to Gina and telling her the news.

How her face changed when she realized she couldn’t live in that house anymore. How she calls Noah in a panic, telling her they’re being evicted. Part of me felt gratification at these thoughts, but another part of me felt a strange emptiness.

Was this really what I wanted? To take revenge on my own daughter, even if she deserved it? I got out of bed, walked to the window. Night Slide Dell was twinkling with lights, living its life, oblivious to the little human dramas playing out behind closed doors. Somewhere out there, in a big house on a quiet street, Gina was sleeping, unaware that tomorrow her life would change, and I, her father, was the one who set the mechanism in motion.

You’re doing the right thing, I said to myself. She chose this path herself when she decided money was more important than family. But somewhere deep inside, a voice similar to Vivian’s whispered, Are there winners in family wars, Earl? Or only losers? I didn’t know the answer.

I knew the call from Gina would follow soon. Raymond Prescott was supposed to meet with her this morning and break the news of the house sale. I sat in my small apartment trying to read the detective, but the words blurred before my eyes.

My thoughts kept returning to what was happening now in my former home. How would Gina react? What would she say? Would she scream, cry, or coldly analyze the situation like Noah would do? The phone rang at exactly 1130. I looked at the screen.

It was her. I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts, and answered it. Hello? What the hell is going on here? Gina’s voice was ringing with anger.

No greeting, just straight to the point. What are you talking about? I decided not to make it any easier on her. Some realtor was here.

She was practically screaming. He says the house is sold and we have to move out 30 days after the closing. There’s some kind of mistake, right? You got something wrong with the rent.

This is it. The moment I’ve been preparing for for the last two weeks. The moment when the truth finally comes out.

No, Gina. There’s no mistake. I replied calmly.

The house has indeed been sold. But how is that possible? Her voice trembled. You’ve been paying rent on time.

I checked the bills myself. How can the landlord evict us? The landlord can do whatever he wants with his property, I said. Including selling it.

Then we need to contact him immediately. Gina insisted. Explain the situation.

Offer to buy the house ourselves. Noah and I have a good credit history. We could… Gina.

I interrupted her. You don’t understand. The landlord’s already made his decision.

The house is sold for $840,000. The money has been paid. The documents have been signed.

But this is crazy. We’ve lived here for over five years. We should have some rights.

I could hear the desperation in her voice. Earl, you gotta help us figure this out. You had the landlord’s contact, right? You paid him directly? I closed my eyes.

This is it. The moment of truth. No, Gina.

I didn’t pay any master. I paid you. What are you talking about? She obviously didn’t understand.

Of course you paid me and I paid the landlord. It was more convenient. No.

I said slowly, enunciating each word clearly. You didn’t pay any landlord because there was no landlord. The house had always belonged to me.

Silence hung on the line. I could almost see Gina trying to make sense of my words. Her face changing from incomprehension to shock.

What? What did you say? She finally squeezed out. I said I owned the house, I repeated. I bought it twenty years ago after your mother died with lottery money.

I was never a tenant. That was a lie. No.

Her voice became quiet, almost a whisper. It’s impossible. You couldn’t… You always said you were renting this house, that you were barely making ends meet.

I lied. I confirmed. Because I knew if I told the truth about the winnings and the house, you and Weston wouldn’t leave me a dime.

You were always like that. Begging and begging and begging. College money, money for your first car, money for your wedding.

You were never grateful. Always wanting more. It’s, uh… This is crazy.

Gina couldn’t seem to believe what was happening. You’re saying that you lied to us for twenty years? That you let us think we were helping you, when really. When in fact you were living in my house and charging me money for the privilege.

I finished for her. Yeah, that’s right. And now, you’ve sold the house? Her voice suddenly became harsh.

You’re throwing your own daughter out on the street? I sold my property. I corrected. The very property you were demanding money for.

The very property you threatened to kick me out of if I didn’t increase the rent. Remember what you said. Pay the rent or get out.

Well, I did. Now you have to clean up. You, uh… You’re a monster, Gina exhaled.

How could you do this to your own family? To your own daughter? What will Avery say when she finds out her grandfather threw us out on the street? I don’t throw anyone out on the street, I countered. You have thirty days to find a new place to live. With your income, that shouldn’t be a problem.

And leave Avery out of this. She’s the only one in your family who’s ever treated me with respect. She’ll despise you when she finds out the truth, Gina hissed.

We all will. Weston, Noah, the whole family. You’ll be alone, Earl.

All alone. Her words should have hurt me, but in a strange way, I felt only tired. Tired of the lies, the pretense, the toxic relationship that had lasted for years.

I’m already alone, Gina, I said quietly. I’ve been alone since your mother died. You and Weston have never been around except when you needed money, so your threats are about twenty years too late.

On the other end of the line, I heard Gina sob. For the first time in the entire conversation, there was real emotion in her voice, not feigned outrage. It’s not fair, she said in a shaky voice.

You have no right to say that. We took care of you. We… You took care of my money, I interrupted.

You don’t even know what medications I’m on, Gina. You don’t know what books I read, what music I listen to. You weren’t interested in my life, only my wallet.

That’s not true, she was outraged. I cooked your meals, washed your clothes, took you to the doctor, and made me feel like a burden for every favor I did, I added. Reminded me every chance she got of how hard it was for you to be with me, counting how much electricity I use and how much water I waste.

That’s not caring, Gina. It’s business. I can’t believe you feel that way about us, her voice got quieter.

After all we’ve done for you. And I can’t believe you can’t see the truth, I replied. But it doesn’t matter anymore.

The house is sold. You have 30 days to find a new place to live. I suggest you start looking immediately.

You’re going to regret this, Gina said, her voice threatening. I’ll tell everyone what you’ve done, all your family, all your neighbors. Everyone will know what you’re really like.

Tell them. I shrugged, though she couldn’t see it. I have nothing to hide, nothing more.

I pressed the end button and put the phone down on the table. My hands were trembling slightly. Despite my outward calm, the conversation wasn’t easy for me…

I felt a strange mixture of emotions. Relief that the truth had finally been revealed. Sadness that my relationship with my daughter was finally ruined.

And the emptiness that comes after a long-awaited but bitter triumph. I stood up and walked to the window. The day was clear, sunny.

People were walking down the street, minding their own business, unaware of the little family drama playing out in one of the apartments. Life went on as usual, indifferent to our problems. The phone rang again 15 minutes later.

This time, it was Weston. I’d almost expected it. Of course, Gina had called her brother right away, told him everything.

I took a deep breath and answered, Weston, what the hell are you doing? My son’s voice was full of rage. Gina just called me in hysterics. You sold the house? Seriously? You’re throwing your own kids out on the street? I sold my property, I replied calmly.

Something I had every right to sell. But why now? Why so suddenly? Weston clearly couldn’t understand my motives. And why the hell didn’t you ever tell us you owned the house? Because you’d immediately start demanding your share, I answered bluntly.

Like I always did. Every time I had money, you and Gina would immediately put your hand out. Remember when you asked me for a loan for your business? Every time we saw each other, every call ended with you asking for money.

That’s not fair. Weston was indignant. I asked for help because I believed you wanted me to succeed.

Because you’re my father, dammit. And I have helped, I reminded him. Many times.

But it was never enough, was it? It always needed more. And where’s the gratitude? Where’s the respect? You only called me when you needed money. You didn’t even visit me on my birthday last year.

I had an important meeting, Weston defended himself. I couldn’t cancel it. Of course you couldn’t, I sighed tiredly.

There’s always something more important than an old father. But when you need money, suddenly there’s time to make a call. I can’t believe you feel that way about us.

I could hear the resentment in Weston’s voice. We’re your family, Dad. We took care of you.

No, Weston, I shook my head. You took care of my money. And what I could do for you.

Not me. And that’s why you decided to get revenge? Throw Gina and her family out on the street? That’s your way of teaching us a lesson? I’m not throwing anyone out on the street, I repeated patiently. They have 30 days to find a new place to live.

With their income, that shouldn’t be a problem. 30 days is nothing, Weston exclaimed. Do you know how hard it is to find a good house in Slidell now? Prices have skyrocketed.

I know, I said. That’s why I sold mine. 840,000 was a good price.

Weston was silent for a moment, digesting the information. 840,000. His voice changed.

What are you going to do with that money? That’s it. As soon as the large sum was mentioned, Weston’s tone immediately changed from angry to interested. Typical.

It’s none of your business, I replied. My money is my business. But it’s the family home, he objected.

Mom would never approve of what you’re doing. The mention of Vivian prickled me, but I didn’t fall for the manipulation. Don’t drag your mother into this, I said sternly.

She would never approve of the way you two have treated me all these years either. She’d be disappointed to see how greedy her children have grown up to be. That’s low, Dad.

Weston’s voice turned cold, using Mom against us. No lower than using her memory to manipulate me, I parried. The conversation was clearly going nowhere.

Weston continued to accuse me of betrayal, and I remained adamant. Eventually, he gave up. You know what? Do whatever you want, but don’t come back to us when you’re alone and sick.

Gina and I washed our hands of it. You did this a long time ago, I said quietly. Long before today.

I ended the call and sank heavily into my chair. These conversations had exhausted me more than I’d expected. Not physically.

Emotionally. Saying out loud what I’d been holding in for years was both liberating and agonizing. The next call followed from Avery.

Her voice sounded worried. Grandpa? What’s going on? Mom just called me hysterical saying you’ve sold the house and are kicking them out on the street. Is that true? I sighed.

Poor Avery. Having to be in the middle of a family conflict. Partially, I answered honestly.

I did sell the house, but I’m not kicking anyone out on the street. They have 30 days to find a new place to live. But Grandpa? I don’t understand.

Her voice sounded confused. How could you sell the house? It belonged to Mom and Dad, didn’t it? No, honey, I said softly. The house has always belonged to me.

I bought it 20 years ago, but I never told anyone about it. There was a pause during which Avery was probably trying to process this information. You’re telling me that all this time, she began, all this time your parents have been living in my house, not the other way around, I confirmed, and were charging me money for rent.

Ironic, isn’t it? But why didn’t you ever talk about it? I could hear the bewilderment in her voice. Why did I hide it? Because I knew that once the truth came out, your parents and Uncle Weston would want their share, I explained. I won the lottery, Avery, a big one.

I bought a house with the money and put the balance in an account. If they found out, there wouldn’t be a trace of the money a year later. You didn’t trust them, she said.

I knew them too well, I corrected. And time proved me right. Look how they reacted when I refused to increase the rent.

Your mother literally kicked me out of my own house. Avery was silent for a while, digesting the information. Mom says you did it out of revenge, she said finally.

That you wanted to punish them, I wondered. Was it revenge? Yes, partly. I couldn’t deny that I felt some satisfaction in imagining Gina’s shock, but that wasn’t all.

I did it because I was tired, I said honestly. Tired of lying, of pretending, of having to justify every dollar I spent. I wanted freedom, Avery.

To be able to do with my money as I saw fit, without fear of someone reaching out and demanding their share. I understand, she said quietly. But it’s still cruel, Grandfather.

They’re without a home now. They have money to rent or buy a new house, I objected. They’re not on the street and they have 30 days, more than enough time to find a place to live.

You’re probably right, Avery sighed. It’s just that this is all so unexpected. I don’t know what to think.

You don’t have to choose sides, sweetheart, I said softly. I’ll still love you no matter what you decide. I know, Grandpa, her voice trembled.

I’m just afraid I won’t be able to see you anymore. Mom is furious, she says she’ll never forgive you. It’s her choice, I said.

But you can always visit me whenever you want. My door is always open to you. After talking to Avery, I felt drained.

It was as if all the emotions I’d been holding back for years had burst out in one day and left a scorched desert. There was no triumph, no satisfaction of revenge, just fatigue and the strange relief of not having to pretend anymore. I turned my phone off, not wanting any more conversations.

Enough for today. Tomorrow would be another day, and maybe the passions would settle down a bit, though I doubted it. In the evening, I went out for a short walk.

The weather was warm and there was the smell of blossoming trees in the air. I walked slowly, thinking about the events of the day, about the shock in Gina’s voice, about Weston’s anger, about Avery’s confusion, about how one decision made twenty years ago to hide the winnings and buy the house had led to today. Was I right to do that? It’s hard to say.

Maybe if I had been honest with my kids from the beginning, things would have turned out differently. Maybe, knowing about my money, they would have shown more respect, more care, or, more likely, they would have just squandered my savings faster. I remembered Vivian, her wisdom, her ability to see through people…

She’d always said that secrets destroy families from the inside out, slowly, but surely, like termites destroy a tree. Was she right? Had I destroyed my family with my lies, or had it already been destroyed by my children’s greed and selfishness? I didn’t know the answer. I doubted I would ever know it.

But one thing I knew for sure was that I no longer wanted to live a lie. Whatever happened next, whatever the outcome of this story, I would meet him with open eyes and a clear conscience. Back in the apartment, I turned on my phone.

Ten missed calls from Gina. Five from Weston. Two from Avery.

A few messages I didn’t bother to read. I muted the sound and put the phone on the nightstand. Tomorrow.

I’d deal with all of this tomorrow. Tonight. I just wanted some peace.

I sat in a chair by the window, watching the sun set over Slidell. A strange sense of freedom swept over me, as if the heavy weight I’d been carrying for twenty years had finally fallen from my shoulders. Yes, I had hurt my children.

Yes, they would probably never forgive me. But I was no longer a prisoner of my own lies, no longer a victim of their manipulations. For the first time in a long time, I felt real, not a poor old man dependent on his daughter’s charity, not a stingy father refusing to help his son, but just a man.

Earl Cunningham, a 77-year-old widower who had the right to manage his life and his money as he saw fit. It wasn’t a triumph. It was simply a release.

Three weeks have passed since the day Gina learned the truth about the house. In that time, my life had changed dramatically. The deal was successfully closed, and I received a check for $735,000 after all fees and taxes were paid.

The money was deposited into my account, joining the balance of the winnings I had so carefully kept all these years. The first thing I did with my newfound wealth was to buy a small but cozy house in the southern part of Slidell. It was one story, with three bedrooms, a spacious living room, and a veranda overlooking a well-kept garden.

It had cost $520,000, considerably less than I’d gotten for selling the old house, but it was much more practical for a lonely old man. No stairs, wide doorways, a convenient layout, everything for comfortable living. The realtor who helped me with the purchase, an energetic woman named Helen Morrow, was surprised when I paid for the house in full, mortgage-free.

That’s rare these days, Mr. Cunningham, she said as we signed the papers. Most buyers take out a loan. I’m too old for credit, I replied with a smile.

I prefer to own what I have, fully and unconditionally. After I bought the house, I started fixing it up. For the first time in years, I could spend money without thinking about what Gina or Noah would say.

I bought new furniture, comfortable, high-quality, chosen for my taste, not for economy reasons. I ordered a large armchair with an adjustable backrest, which I had long dreamed of. I bought a modern TV with a large screen to watch old movies that I loved so much.

Renewed his closet, throwing away the worn-out shirts and pants he had worn for years for fear of appearing wasteful. But the greatest pleasure was seeing a doctor, not the one Gina drove me to, constantly reminding me of the cost of the visit, but a specialist recommended to me by a neighbor. Dr. Phelps, an experienced gerontologist, gave me a complete examination, prescribed more effective medications for my arthritis, and even recommended a physical therapist who helped me develop an exercise program to improve my mobility.

For someone your age, you’re in great shape, Mr. Cunningham, Dr. Phelps said after the exam. With proper care and treatment, you can live many more years of active life. Those words were a balm to my soul.

For years I had listened to Gina tell me how I was fading and needing more and more care. It was good to know that my health wasn’t as bad as she tried to convince me. While I was settling into my new place, Gina and Noah were feverishly looking for a place to live.

Avery told me about it during our regular phone conversations. She was the only one of the family to keep in touch with me after the house scandal, as she called it. They’re looking at apartments, but everyone’s not happy, she informed me one evening.

Mom says nothing compares to the old house, and Dad is angry about the cost of rent. They fight all the time. I’m sorry you have to witness this, I said sincerely.

Not your fault, Grandpa, Avery sighed. Well, technically it is, but I understand why you did it. I probably would have gotten tired of the constant nagging and demands, too.

It was so like Avery to try to see a situation from different angles. In her 19, she had a wisdom that her parents lacked. How did Uncle Weston react to all of this, I asked, though I guessed the answer.

He’s furious, Avery confirmed. He says you betrayed the whole family, that you’re selfish and all that, but you know what’s funny? When Mom told him about your money, the first thing he did was call and ask for a loan to expand the business, right in the middle of a scandal. I wasn’t surprised.

Weston was always like that. Even when he was angry, he’d take advantage. What about your parents? Are they still mad at me? Mom is, Avery answered after a short pause.

She says she’ll never forgive you for cheating and kicking us out of the house. Dad, he’s more angry about having to pay for a new place. You know Dad, it’s all about money for him.

I did. Noah’s always been a financial analyst, not just by trade, but by vocation. Every decision in his life has been through the prism of profit and loss.

Had they found anything suitable? I asked, feeling a slight prick of conscience. I think so, Avery replied. An apartment in a new complex near the center.

It’s not as big as the house, but it’s a decent place. My mom still wasn’t happy, saying it was a step backward in their lives. I didn’t say anything.

Gina had always been obsessed with status, the trappings of success. Moving from a big house to an apartment, even a nice one, was a blow to her ego. When are you moving into your new house? Avery changed the subject.

Already moved in, I answered. I moved the last of my stuff in yesterday. You should come by sometime.

I think you’ll like it. I will, she promised. Just don’t tell Mom.

She’ll forbid me to see you. It will be our secret, I assured her. After our conversation, I sat on the new veranda, enjoying the warm evening and a cup of tea.

It was strange how things had turned out. For years, I had lived a lie, pretending to be a poor old man dependent on my daughter’s favor. Now that the truth was out, I was free.

But the price of that freedom was my relationship with most of the family. Was it worth it? It’s hard to say. Sometimes, in moments of weakness, I doubted my decision…

Maybe it was worth it to keep playing the game. To endure humiliation and nagging for the sake of preserving at least the semblance of family ties. But then I remembered the cold calculation in Gina’s eyes when she demanded an increase in rent.

Weston’s greed, always asking for more than I could give. The constant feeling that I was a burden. That my presence was only tolerated because of the money I brought in.

No, I decided. Freedom was worth the price. The ability to live by my own rules, to spend my own money without excuses.

To not have to fear being kicked out of your own home. It was worth breaking up a relationship that had long since stopped being healthy. Avery kept her promise and visited me a few days later.

Her eyes widened when she saw my new home. Wow, Grandpa! She exclaimed, looking around the spacious living room with new furniture and modern appliances. It’s amazing! Much better than I expected.

What did you expect? I asked with a smile. That I’d be living in a shack? No, of course not, she laughed. It’s just that Mom said you probably moved out to some cheap apartment on the outskirts.

She has no idea that you’ve got all this stuff. She circled the room, noticing the quality furniture, the new TV, the collection of books neatly arranged on the shelves. She doesn’t need to know, I said.

Let her think what she wants. We spent the afternoon together. I showed Avery the house, the garden, the new computer I’d bought so I could learn how to use the internet.

We cooked dinner together, a real dinner with quality food I could now afford, not the cheap pasta and watered-down sauce Gina fed me. You look happy, Grandpa, Avery remarked as we sat on the porch after dinner. More relaxed, I guess.

I am, I admitted. For the first time in a long time, I feel free. No need to prove anything to anyone, no excuses for existing.

I’m happy for you, she said sincerely. I really am. You deserve to be happy.

So do you, sweetheart, I took her hand. By the way, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve set up a trust account in your name for your education and your future.

What? She looked shocked. Grandpa, you don’t have to. I want to, I interrupted her.

You’re the only one in this family who really cared about me. Not about my money, but about me. You deserve a chance at a good education, at a life of your own choosing without having to worry about money.

Avery’s eyes filled with tears. I don’t know what to say, she whispered. Thank you.

But, what will mom and dad say? Why would they know? I winked at her. This is between you and me. You can manage the money when you graduate from college.

Until then, it’s just going to accumulate in an account. Avery hugged me tightly, just like when I was a kid. You’re the best grandpa in the world, she said, despite all your deceptions and secrets.

I laughed, feeling a warming sensation in my heart. At least one relationship in my family remained unbroken. A month after Gina and Noah moved into their new apartment, the unexpected happened.

Weston called me for the first time since our last heated conversation. Dad? His voice sounded unusually soft. How are you? I’m fine, I answered cautiously, suspecting a trick.

How are you? Good, good, he coughed. Listen, I’ve been thinking about our last conversation. Maybe I was too harsh.

You know, I’m always a hothead when it comes to family. I appreciate your apology, I said neutrally. Yeah, I, uh, I’d like to stop by your place if that’s okay.

See how you’re settling in. Maybe help with something. There it is.

I could almost hear the gears clicking in Weston’s head. He’d found out about my money, my new house, and now he wanted to repair the relationship, not out of remorse or love, but out of possible gain. That’s very nice of you, I said, but I’m perfectly settled.

Everything that needs to be done has been done. Yeah? I could hear the disappointment in his voice. Well, maybe I’ll just stop by and see you.

It’s been so long since we’ve had a proper conversation. Maybe some other time, I said evasively. Right now, I’m a little busy with setting up the house.

After a few more attempts to make an appointment, Weston gave up and said goodbye, promising to call later. I knew he would call, especially if he heard from Avery, who I hoped would keep her mouth shut, about the trust I’d set up for my granddaughter. Gina held on longer.

For almost two months after the eviction, she didn’t make contact. But one day, as I was gardening at my new house, her car pulled up. I straightened up, leaning on the rake and watched her get out of the car, looking around my house with undisguised amazement.

Earl, she said instead of greeting me. Nice place you got here. Thanks, I replied calmly.

To what do I owe this visit? She stepped closer, scrutinizing my face. You look good, she said with a touch of surprise. Healthier than before.

A proper diet, a good doctor, and a lack of constant stress works wonders, I said. Gina pressed her lips together, but she held back a sharp reply. Avery told me you bought this house, with the money from the sale of our, I mean, your old house? Yes, I confirmed.

It’s much more practical for someone my age. No stairs, all on one level. She nodded, looking at the well-tended garden, the new garden furniture on the veranda, the freshly painted front.

Must have cost a lot of money. I can afford it, I replied simply. Gina sighed as if gathering her strength…

Look, Dad, I know we didn’t break up in the best way. I was shocked, angry about your deception. But as time went on, I thought, maybe we should try to make things right.

We’re still a family. Family, I repeated thoughtfully. It’s funny how you’re only bringing that up now.

Not when you kicked me out of the house. Not when you made me pay for a room in my own house. I didn’t know it was your house, she objected.

You never told us the truth. And if I had, I asked, what would have changed? Would you have treated me with more respect? Or would you just demand more money? Gina didn’t answer, but her silence was more eloquent than any words. You didn’t come here for reconciliation, I said, realizing the truth.

You came here because you found out about my money, my new house. Because you realized you’d missed your chance to get your share. It’s not fair, she said quietly.

You’re judging me without even giving me a chance. I gave you a chance every day for the five years I lived with you, I replied. Every day was a chance to treat me like a father, not a source of income.

You didn’t take any of them. We stood in silence looking at each other across a chasm of mutual resentment and misunderstanding. Finally, Gina turned toward the car.

I thought you’d be lonely and miserable, she said over her shoulder. That you’d realize how much you needed a family, but you seemed to be doing just fine on your own. Yes, I agreed.

I’m doing fine. She got in her car and drove away without saying goodbye. I watched her go, feeling a strange mixture of sadness and relief.

It was probably the last time we’d see each other, but maybe it was better for both of us. The next few months passed in relative peace. I set up my new home, gardened, found a hobby club where older people like me met to discuss books and play chess.

Avery visited me regularly, sometimes staying for the weekend. She talked about college, about her plans to become a journalist, about trips she wanted to take. Weston called several times, each time with a barely concealed request for money.

I politely declined, saying that all my funds had already been dispersed. He quickly lost interest in the conversation after that. Gina didn’t call or come by again.

I learned from Avery that he and Noah had bought a smaller house than before, but still spacious and in a good neighborhood. The relationship between them had become strained. Noah accused Gina of missing out on a gold mine by not having a better relationship with me.

Sometimes I wondered if I had done the right thing by revealing my secret in this way. Maybe I should have gradually told the children the truth, given them time to get used to the idea that their father wasn’t as poor as they thought. But then I remembered the cold calculation in Gina’s eyes, Weston’s greed, and I realized nothing would have changed.

They’d just get to my money faster. On a bright spring morning, I was sitting on the veranda of my new house, enjoying a cup of good coffee, real, freshly ground coffee, not the cheap instant stuff Gina was buying. The morning paper was in front of me.

I still preferred paper to electronic even though I’d mastered the internet and even started an email account to communicate with Avery. The garden I’d lovingly landscaped over the past few months was beginning to bloom. Tulips, daffodils, early roses, bright spots of color against the fresh greenery.

I hired a gardener who came once a week to help with the hard work but took care of most of the plant care. It was an enjoyable activity that gave me a sense of fulfillment and connection to nature. My phone rang, breaking the morning idle.

I looked at the screen. Gina. Strange.

She hadn’t called in months. What could have caused her to break the silence? I stared at the blinking screen, wondering if I should answer. What would she say? Another accusation.

A new attempt at manipulation. Or maybe something had happened to Avery. The last thought made me reach for the phone but I stopped myself.

If something serious had happened to Avery, I’d get a call from the hospital or the police, not Gina, who had avoided contact with me for months. No. It was probably another attempt to repair the relationship not out of love or remorse but out of calculation.

Perhaps Weston had told her about the trust for Avery, though I hoped my granddaughter had kept that secret. Or maybe Noah was having financial problems and they’d decided to try to get some help from Rich Daddy. I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then hit the mute button and put the phone screen down on the table.

Gina could leave a message if it was really something important. And I wasn’t about to interrupt my morning for another round of manipulation and accusations. I went back to my coffee and the paper.

The sun was rising over the garden, promising a warm spring day. Birds sang in the bushes. The breeze gently ruffled the leaves of the trees.

The world continued on its way, indifferent to small human dramas. And I was part of that world, not a poor old man dependent on his daughter’s favor, not a stingy father refusing to help his son, but just a man. Earl Cunningham, a 77-year-old widower who could finally live by his own rules without having to justify or pretend.

For the first time in years, I felt truly free, master not only of my home, but of my life. And that feeling was priceless, far more valuable than all the money I’d ever had or lost. The phone stopped ringing.

I took a sip of coffee, turned the page of the newspaper, and smiled at the new day.