Millionaire Siblings and My Only Photo

Your mother left you an item.

The lawyers voice was calm, reciting a standard legal script.

My brother received one point five million dollars.

My sister received one point five million dollars.

Then, my turn.

The lawyer paused for three seconds, looking directly at me.

A photograph.

I froze.

What kind of photo?

She slid an envelope across the mahogany table.

I opened it. Inside was a twenty-year-old snapshot.

In the picture, I was seventeen, standing in the overgrown yard of our old house, wearing a stupid, lopsided grin.

On the back, a line in my mother's messy handwriting

Hang in there, kiddo. Go get that degree.

Cameron and Madeline exchanged a glance.

No one spoke.

1.

I stared at the photo for a long time.

Seventeen-year-old me, a buzz cut, a worn high school jacket, standing beneath the sprawling branches of the old oak tree in our yard.

It was a month before my college entrance exams. Mom had made a rare trip home and insisted on taking my picture.

The minute you get into State U., Im going to blow this up and hang it right over the mantel.

Shed been smiling that day, even changed into a clean, white blouse just for the occasion.

It was the only photo she ever took of me.

And the last time she ever told me, Hang in there.

Rory? Maddies voice broke the silence of the memory. Are you okay?

I looked up at her.

Her expression was complicated, a mix of pity and awkwardness. She wanted to comfort me, but didnt know how.

Im fine.

I slipped the photo back into the envelope and stood up.

Is the probate done? Im leaving.

Wait. Cam called out. Rory, arent you going to say something?

I turned and faced him.

My older brother, Cameron Whittaker, was wearing a black leather jacket and shoes that looked like they cost more than my monthly rent. Hed been back from the UK for two years, living in a penthouse condo in the city; I heard his in-laws paid the down payment.

Say what?

I mean He hesitated. Dont you think Moms distribution is a little

No.

I grabbed my cheap backpack.

It was Moms estate. Her call. The will is final. Whats there to talk about?

But

Cam. I cut him off. You got your million five. I got my photo. Were even. Lets move on.

Cams mouth opened, but no words came out.

Maddie stood beside him, looking down, trying to be invisible.

I didnt look at either of them again. I pushed the door open and walked out.

A cold, biting rain was falling outside.

I stood in the doorway of the office building and lit a cigarette.

I had quit three years ago. Today, I was smoking again.

One point five million dollars.

One point five million dollars.

One photo.

I laughed, a sharp, dry sound that tasted like regret. I didnt know what I was laughing at.

Twenty years.

From seventeen to thirty-seven, I had given everything to that family.

In the end, all my mother had left me was a photo from twenty years ago.

My phone rang. It was Dad.

Rory, is the reading over?

It is.

Where are your brother and sister?

I dont know. I left.

Why didnt you wait for them?

Dad. I took a deep drag on the cigarette. Im tired. I want to go home and rest.

Home? Which home are you going to?

I paused, the air suddenly thick and cold.

He was right. Which home?

The old house, the one shed promised to hang my picture in? Mom had clearly willed it to Maddie.

My own place was a cramped, north-facing fifty-square-foot rental, two hundred miles away, costing me 0-0,800 a month.

I didnt own anything.

I was thirty-seven, five years divorced, no kids, and my total savings amounted to less than twenty thousand dollars.

The start of all this was that photo.

The start was that summer when I was seventeen.

I had scored in the top three percent in the state.

My plan was the State Flagship University, English Literature major.

My mother glanced at the acceptance letter and said one sentence

Your brothers college is already bleeding us dry, and your sister needs tutoring to get her scores up. We dont have that kind of money for you.

That night, I cried myself sick under my blanket.

The next morning, I ripped up the acceptance letter and signed up for a job at the local textile mill.

I was seventeen.

Cam was nineteen, already away at his expensive university. Maddie was sixteen.

From that day on, my paycheck went straight to my father.

I kept three hundred a month for bare necessities. The rest I sent home.

To pay for Maddies tutoring.

To pay for Cams university.

To help with Maddies house down payment.

To help with Cams wedding.

It went on for fifteen years.

Rory? Are you still there? Dads voice crackled on the phone.

Im here.

Your brother said he wants to take everyone out for dinner, a sort of way to honor your mothers

I wont be there.

Rory!

Dad, Im tired.

I hung up.

Standing in the rain, I smoked another cigarette.

The photo was still in my bag.

I touched the envelope, but didnt pull it out.

Twenty years.

I finally knew what I was worth to my mother.

Not one point five million.

Not fifty thousand.

Not even five thousand.

One photo.

One she hadnt looked at in twenty years.

2.

I took a cab back to my rental.

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. Everything alright, bud? You look rough.

Im fine. Just got soaked in the rain.

Watch out for a cold. Nasty weather.

I nodded, leaning back and closing my eyes.

My mind was a whirlpool of the past.

I remembered the day the test scores came out.

I had a 3.9 GPA and the kind of scores that got you a full-ride scholarshipthe kind of kid the town pinned its hopes on.

My homeroom teacher called, ecstatic: Rory Kincaid! You are the best student to come out of this district in a decade! State U. is a lock!

My parents were thrilled for a few days.

Relatives streamed in, congratulating them.

My uncle said, Bob, your boy is going to make something of himself! Hes getting out!

My aunt added, A flagship school! Thats a first for this side of the county!

Dad was beaming, shoving chips and beer at everyone.

Mom just sat on the porch, smoking, quiet, but I could tell she was proud.

They were the happiest days I could remember.

Then the acceptance letter arrived.

I remember the day exactly: August 15th.

The mail carrier drove his beat-up sedan into the driveway, shouting, Rory Kincaid! Your letter is here!

I ran out and took the thick, beige envelope. My hands were shaking.

I tore it open. Inside, a heavy, embossed red card.

State Flagship University, Department of English Literature.

I stared at the words, tears blurring my vision.

I had done it.

I had actually done it.

Then Mom took the letter and looked at it.

Her expression shifted.

How much is the tuition a year?

Four thousand eight hundred dollars.

Room and board?

Eight hundred.

How much for living expenses?

Maybe three to four hundred a month.

Mom didnt say anything. She placed the letter on the kitchen table and the temperature in the room plummeted.

That night, Mom and Dad talked for a long time behind their closed door.

I put my ear to the crack to listen.

Dad was pleading, Let Rory go. The kids smart. Hell make something of himself.

Moms voice was hard. Where is the money, Robert? We dont have it. Look at the Millers boyhe graduated and never came back. That money will be wasted.

Dad said, But

Maddie needs to get ready for next year, Mom interrupted. Rory goes to school, thats ten thousand a year. What about Maddie? She cant fail, or shell be stuck here forever, just like us.

Dad fell silent.

Then, the final surrender: How are we going to tell Rory?

I will.

The next morning, Mom called me out to the yard.

She stood beneath the oak tree, looking out at the fading town behind our fence.

Rory.

Mom.

Your sisters college prep next year, your brothers tuition... the moneys short. You need to

She didnt finish the sentence.

I understood everything.

You want me to stay home, dont you?

She didnt answer.

She just dropped her cigarette butt, grinding it out with her heel.

Youre a man, Rory. School isnt the only path. Get a steady job. Thats more important.

I stood there, paralyzed, unable to speak.

Tears dropped onto the dusty ground.

Mom looked at me, frowning. Stop crying. Im doing this for your own good.

For my own good.

That night, I placed the acceptance letter deep in the bottom of my desk drawer.

I didnt tear it. I didnt burn it.

I just hid it there.

Twenty years.

I never opened that drawer again.

The taxi stopped.

The driver said, Were here, pal.

I snapped back to reality, paid him, and got out.

The rain had stopped, but the sky was still an oppressive gray.

I looked up at the window of my rented box.

Fifth floor, north-facing, perpetually dim.

I had lived here for five years.

Five years ago, I moved from our small town to this city.

Why?

Because Mom had a stroke.

The doctor said she would need long-term, intensive care.

Cam was overseas. Maddie had just bought her first home. Dad was too old and frail to handle it alone.

So, I came.

I was thirty-two.

I had worked at the local mill for fifteen years, finally making it up to Shift Supervisor.

I quit the job. I sold the beat-up eight-year-old sedan. I rented this tiny apartment and became my mothers full-time caregiver.

Five years.

3.

I unlocked the door. The apartment still held the distinct, inescapable smell.

Disinfectant, old age, and a slight, persistent mildew.

Five years. The scent was embedded in the drywall; it would never truly air out.

I sank onto the couch and pulled the photo out of my bag.

Seventeen-year-old me, smiling so brightly.

I didnt know that in three days, my life would be fundamentally redirected.

I still thought that getting into college was the starting line of adulthood.

I flipped the photo over and looked at the handwriting.

Hang in there, kiddo. Go get that degree.

My mothers hand was clumsy, the script of a woman who hadn't finished middle school.

But I remembered those words for two decades.

Wasnt it ridiculous?

The woman who barred me from college told me to Go get that degree.

Then, I remembered the context.

It was a month before the exam. Mom had come home for a few daysshe worked long hours out of town, only making it back a few times a year.

She brought a disposable cameraa cheap point-and-shoot someone had given her.

Rory, come here. Moms going to take your picture.

I stood beneath the oak tree, and she held the camera up.

Smile, son.

I smiled.

She pressed the shutter.

Then she said, The day you get your acceptance, Im blowing this up and hanging it over the mantel.

I nodded, feeling a warmth I hadn't felt in months.

But what happened next?

I did get into college.

No, I got in, but I didnt go.

The photo was never blown up. It never hung over the mantel.

I assumed it was lost or thrown away.

Now, twenty years later, it surfaced in her final will.

It was my sole inheritance.

My phone chimed. A text from Maddie.

Bro, about the way Mom divided things, I agree it wasnt fair. I want to split my portion with you. You take half of my 0-0.5M.

I stared at the screen, motionless.

Half.

Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

Enough for a small condo in this city.

Enough to secure my future.

I typed a short reply.

No, thank you.

Send.

Seconds later, Maddies name flashed on the screen.

Rory! Dont be stubborn! Im serious!

Im not stubborn.

Then why wont you take it?

Because its not your money to give.

Maddie was silent.

What do you mean?

That 0-0.5 million is what Mom left you. Since she was so clear on the division, she must have had her reasons. You keep it.

But

Maddie. I cut her off. Do you remember who paid for your college tuition?

Silence from the other end.

I did, I said. Three years of high school tutoring, four years of college, three years of grad school. Your tuition, your living expenses, even the prep classes you tookit all came from me.

Rory, I know! Ive always remembered

Good. But I dont need you to pay it back. That money was my gift to you back then. Consider it your older brother covering you.

Rory

Do you remember how much your down payment and wedding fund came to?

Maddie didnt answer.

Two hundred thousand dollars, I supplied. I contributed fifty thousand. The other hundred and fifty came from Mom and Dad, and sixty thousand of that was my money Id been sending home for years.

Rory, I

And what did Mom and Dad give me when I got married?

She stayed silent.

Two hundred dollars, I answered for her. An envelope full of bills, handed to me in front of all the guests.

Rory, the family was tight on cash then

Tight on cash? My voice finally rose. The year you bought your house, Mom and Dad handed over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The year I got married, the family could only spare two hundred?

I didnt mean it like that

Maddie. I took a deep breath, letting the smoke out slowly. Im not telling you this to demand payment. Im telling you that I have paid my debt to this family, a thousand times over.

Rory

Keep your 0-0.5 million. You and Cam can handle Dad and all the rest of it. Im done.

What are you saying?

Im tired.

I hung up the phone.

I leaned back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

Tired.

God, I was exhausted.

4.

I picked up the photograph again.

Seventeen-year-old me, standing beneath the oak, smiling so brightly.

Back then, I believed that hard work was all it took to change my destiny.

Back then, I believed my parents wouldnt let me go to college because they truly had no money.

But what happened later?

The year Maddie started college, my parents not only paid her tuition but bought her a brand-new laptop.

That was 2008. A new laptop cost four or five thousand dollars.

I had been working at the mill for five years, making barely eighteen hundred a month.

The year Maddie graduated with her Masters, Mom and Dad paid the down payment on her condo in the city.

Two hundred thousand dollars. It was the money I had been sending home, combined with what they had saved.

I told myself then that things had finally gotten better, that they were finally in a position to help her.

I never thought about how much of that help was my sweat and blood.

Now, I understood.

From the start, Mom never intended for me to go to college.

It wasnt about money.

It was about me being the middle child.

Cant you just help the family out?

Her expression when she said that was perfectly calm.

As if she were stating a simple, self-evident truth.

The middle child should step aside for the eldest.

The middle child should pay for the youngest.

The eldest was the familys face in the world.

The youngest was the darling, who needed to be protected.

The middle child? I was the anchor, the utility player, the one who kept the engine running.

That was her logic.

And, I realized, the logic of many people.

I looked down at the photo.

Hang in there, kiddo. Go get that degree.

A bitter laugh escaped me.

That was the extent of my mothers hope for me.

A four-word instruction.

Hang in there.

And then what?

Then she told me to stay home.

I placed the photo on the coffee table, stood up, and walked into the kitchen for a glass of water.

Outside, the sky had darkened. The rain was beginning again.

I thought of five years ago.

Maddie called me, hysterical, saying Mom had collapsed and was hospitalized with a stroke.

Rory, the doctor says its serious. Can you come home?

I took the first overnight train.

When I arrived at the hospital, Mom was lying in bed, half of her body paralyzed.

Dad sat beside her, his face a mask of worry.

Cam?

In the UK. He called and said he absolutely couldnt get the time off, and told Dad to take care.

Maddie?

She was in the hall, talking on the phone, anxious. I overheard fragments

The mortgage is due next month. With Mom like this, I just dont have the cash

That night, the doctor called us into his office.

Her condition is not good. She needs long-term rehabilitation and constant care. Your family needs to discuss who will be the full-time caregiver.

I looked at Dad, in his sixties and not well himself.

I looked at Maddie, newly married, with a baby on the way.

Cam in the UK was a non-starter.

I will do it.

I said the words without hesitation.

Because I knew there was no one else.

Since childhood, whenever a crisis hit this family, I was the one who was expected to absorb the impact.

Rory, what about your job back home? Maddie asked.

Ill quit.

But

No buts. I said. You focus on your new life. Dads too old, Cam wont come back. Ill take care of Mom.

Maddie opened her mouth but said nothing.

Dad took my hand, tears in his eyes.

Rory, Im so sorry to ask this of you

Dad, Im your son. Taking care of Mom is what I should do.

When I said it, I believed it.

Now, I realized the absurdity.

Taking care of Mom was what I should do, but what part of Moms estate was mine?

Five years.

Eighteen hundred-plus days.

I turned her, bathed her, fed her, and managed her physical therapy.

I drove her to appointments, picked up her medication, and managed the hospital stays.

I got up every two hours at night to make sure she hadnt kicked the blanket off or messed with her catheter bag.

I never slept a full night.

I never took a trip.

I never made a new friend.

I quit my job at thirty-two. At thirty-seven, I was practically unemployable.

Who hires a thirty-seven-year-old with no college degree and a five-year gap on their resume?

And the origin of all this was that photo.

That summer I was seventeen.

That moment my mother asked, Cant you just help the family out?

Now what?

My mother was dead.

The estate totaled $3 million.

Cam got 0-0.5 million. Maddie got 0-0.5 million.

Me?

A twenty-year-old photo.

I stood at the window, cup in hand, looking at the rain.

I finally understood.

That photo was the last testament to my mother seeing me.

Twenty years ago, she remembered to take my picture and tell me to Hang in there.

Twenty years later, she only saw my siblings.

Her inheritance wasnt a gift.

It was a reminder.

A reminder that I was never the priority.