Loved Only in a Will

For twenty years, my family never acknowledged my existence.

But today they all came. The living room was packed.

My dad, my mom, my brother Marcus, Dad's sister Aunt Lesley, Dad's brother Uncle John, and several relatives whose names I couldn't recall.

My mom wore a black dress, her eyes red-rimmed, clutching a tissue in her hand.

When she saw me come in, she stood up, her lips trembling.

"Chloe..."

Twenty years. This was the first time she'd called my name so tenderly.

I looked at her and said nothing.

The lawyer opened his folder.

Everyone was waiting for the will Grandma had left me.

When I was six, I was sent to live with Grandma.

Not the "going to Grandma's for vacation" kind of visit. I stood at Grandma's doorstep with a cloth bag containing two changes of clothes and a pair of canvas shoes, watching my mom's back grow smaller and smaller in the distance.

I didn't cry. A six-year-old doesn't really understand what "being abandoned" means.

I only remember that when my mom left, she was holding Marcus's hand.

Marcus was four that year, wearing a new red winter coat. He held a candied apple on a stick.

He glanced back at me once, then turned his head and continued licking his candied apple.

My mom never looked back.

Grandma stood behind me. After a long time, she sighed.

"Come on, let's go inside."

She took my hand.

"Grandma will make you some spaghetti."

Grandma asked me, "Do you miss Mommy?"

I said, "Yes."

Grandma said nothing and ladled half a bowl of noodles for me.

Later I learned that before my mom dropped me off, she'd said something to Grandma.

"Mom, I'm leaving Chloe with you. We really can't afford to raise two kids."

Can't afford two kidsso why was I the one who had to leave, and not Marcus?

I spent twenty years thinking about that question.

The answer was actually quite simple. Marcus was a son. I wasn't.

Grandma's house was in town. Three tiled rooms with an apple tree planted in the yard.

Not big, but clean.

Grandma was sixty-two then, still in good health. Every morning she'd get up at five, go to the farmers' market to buy groceries, come back to make me breakfast, then take me to school.

In the afternoon she'd wait for me at the school gate, rain or shine.

In summer she'd fan me with a palm-leaf fan. In winter she'd fill a hot water bottle for me.

When I had a fever, she'd carry me to the clinic and stay with me in the hallway at three in the morning while I got an IV drip.

Everything my mom should have done, Grandma did instead.

But I knew Grandma wasn't Mom.

Because every time the school asked me to fill in parent information and I wrote "Grandma," the teacher would give me an extra look.

"Where are your parents?"

"Somewhere else."

"Why don't you live with them?"

I didn't know how to answer.

Later I learned a standard response.

"My parents are busy with work."

Busy with work. So busy they hadn't come to see me more than a handful of times in twenty years.

I remember when I was seven, the school organized a drawing contest for Christmas. The theme was "My Home."

The other kids drew their mom, dad, and themselvesa family of three, holding hands.

I drew Grandma and me. Two people. One apple tree.

The teacher looked at it for a long time and said, "This is really good."

She didn't say "Why are there only two people in your home?" but I saw her eyes turn red.

I kept that drawing for a long time. Later it got lost when I moved.

On New Year's Eve when I was seven, I thought I could go home.

Grandma made a phone call.

I stood beside her and heard my mom on the other end say, "Don't come back this year. There's not much space at home. Marcus just got a new bed, and there's nowhere for her to sleep."

Nowhere to sleep. Marcus had a new bed. I didn't even have an old one.

Grandma hung up and patted my head. "This year you'll stay with Grandma. Grandma will make your favorite food."

I ate until my stomach hurt. Grandma smiled.

"Eat slowly. No one's going to take it from you."

Later I learned that during that same New Year, my parents had set up two tables at home, one table full of my brother's favorite dishes.

Family photos were sent to Aunt Lesley's house and Uncle John's house.

In the photos were my dad, my mom, and Marcus. Not me.

Aunt Lesley later told others, "The Scott family just has one son. They treasure him."

Someone asked, "Don't they have a daughter too?"

Aunt Lesley said, "Oh, that one. She's out in the countryside. The old lady's taking care of her."

"That one." She was talking about me. I wasn't "Chloe." I was "that one."

In this family's narrative, I didn't even deserve a name.

When I was nine, Grandma took me to the city to see a doctor. On the way, we stopped by my parents' house.

I stood at the door and saw Marcus's rooman entire wall of toys, a new computer on the desk, and on the nightstand, a photo of Marcus with my parents at an amusement park.

Hanging in the living room was a family portrait. Dad, Mom, Marcus. Three people.

I counted twice. Three people.

Marcus ran out, looked at me, and frowned.

"Mom, who is she?"

He didn't recognize me.

My mom poked her head out from the kitchen and glanced at me.

"She's from Grandma's house. Her name is Chloe."

"From Grandma's house." Not "your sister."

Marcus said "Oh," turned around, and went back to his room to play video games. He didn't say a second word to me the entire time.

On the way home that day, Grandma didn't say anything.

When we were almost there, she suddenly stopped.

"Chloe."

"Yeah?"

She crouched down and looked into my eyes.

"Remember this. You're my Chloe. If no one else wants you, I want you."

Her eyes were red.

"As long as I'm alive, I'll take care of you."

I nodded.

That year I was nine, and I learned something.

Some people are family. Some people are just strangers who happen to share your blood.

When I was twelve, I ranked first in the entire town on my exams.

Grandma called my mom to tell her.

The phone was on speaker. I was right there and heard everything clearly.

"Ruth, Chloe got first place in the whole town!"

There was silence on the other end for two seconds.

"Oh. Got it."

"Chloe wants to go to the top-rated middle school in the city. The tuition"

"Mom, we're tight on money right now. Marcus has to start his extracurriculars next semester, plus tutoring fees."

Grandma said nothing more and hung up.

That same year, Marcus ranked 138th in his grade.

My parents enrolled him in three tutoring programs. Twenty-four thousand dollars a year.

I ranked first in the entire town. Not a penny spent on tutoring for me.

I went to a public middle school. Marcus went to a private school in the city.

Later I found out that Grandma had been sending my parents three thousand dollars every month for twelve years. The note on each transfer said "Chloe's tuition."

Three thousand times twelve months, times twelve years. Four hundred and thirty-two thousand dollars. Not a penny of it reached me.

The summer I was fifteen, Grandma took me to get glasses.

On the bus, we ran into Aunt Lesley. She looked me up and down and said to Grandma, "Mom, Chloe's gotten so big."

Then she lowered her voice. "What's going on with Scott? He said Chloe would stay with you for two years, and it's been almost ten now."

Grandma didn't respond.

Aunt Lesley continued, "Don't spoil Chloe too much either. She's a girl, you know. Good enough is fine. When she gets married later"

"Lesley."

I spoke up.

She froze and looked at me.

"I'm not someone who's just 'good enough.'"

I looked at her.

"From now on, please call me by my name. Chloe."

Aunt Lesley's face stiffened. Grandma patted my hand without saying anything, but I saw a slight smile at the corner of her mouth.

When I was eighteen, I took the SAT.

I ranked 23rd in the entire city. Got into a top private school. Law major.

Grandma was so happy she couldn't sleep all night.

The next morning, she called my mom first thing.

"Ruth! Chloe got in! A private university!"

Silence again on the other end.

"Mom... that's great."

"About the tuition"

"Mom, Marcus is getting his driver's license this year too, and we"

"I'll pay." Grandma said.

Her voice was calm.

"I'll pay Chloe's tuition."

After hanging up, Grandma sat in the yard, looking at the apple tree.

For a long time. Then I walked over.

"Grandma, I can apply for financial aid. You don't have to"

"No need."

She looked at me.

"I can afford it."

She smiled.

"The thing I'm most proud of in this life is raising you."

I couldn't hold it back.

That was the first time in twenty years I cried in front of Grandma.

That same fall, Marcus failed his college entrance exam. He retook it for a year and got into a community college.

My parents spent eighteen thousand dollars to buy him a car to "celebrate him getting into college."

One car, eighteen thousand dollars. My four years of tuition plus living expensesGrandma spent a total of seventy thousand dollars. My parents didn't contribute a single cent.

But what they told relatives was, "We worry about both our kids equally."

During my four years of college, I spent every winter and summer break at Grandma's house.

Not because I didn't want to go to my parents' house. Because no one asked me to come back.

One year during fall break, I tried calling my mom.

"Can I come home and stay for a couple days this fall break?"

There was a pause on the other end.

"Chloe... the house is being renovated right now. There's dust everywhere. You should go to Grandma's instead."

Renovations.

Later I saw a post Marcus made on Twitter. On the day of fall break, the three of them took a family photo in the newly renovated living room.

New sofa, new TV, new curtains.

Marcus's caption read, "New house feels amazing."

In the comments, my mom replied, "As long as you like it."

As long as Marcus liked it. A new home for three people. No place for me.

After college graduation, I stayed in the state.

A law firm. Internship salary of thirty-five hundred a month.

I never asked my family for money, because I knew even if I asked, they wouldn't give it.

And also because from the age of six, I knew one thingrely on yourself.

In this life, aside from Grandma, I could only rely on myself.

My third year working, I got a permanent position. Salary of twelve thousand a month.

Fourth year, I got promoted. Eighteen thousand.

Fifth year, I was handling cases independently.

During those five years, my mom called me four times.

First time: "Chloe, Marcus is looking for a job. Can you help ask around in the city?"

Second time: "Chloe, Marcus has a girlfriend. They're buying a house but they're short on money"

Third time: "Chloe, Marcus"

Fourth time: "Chloe, Marcus"

Every single time was about Marcus.

Not once did she say, "Chloe, how have you been lately?"

Did I give them money? Yes.

The first time I lent them twenty thousand. They said they'd pay it back in six months. Three years later, they'd never mentioned it again.

The second time they asked for another thirty thousand. This time they didn't even say "borrow." My mom's exact words were "transfer thirty thousand to Marcus."

Transfer. Not borrow. Transfer.

As if my money was naturally meant to be spent on Marcus.

Fifty thousand dollars total. To this day, not a penny paid back. But I didn't care about that fifty thousand.

What I cared about was this

When they needed money from me, I was "family."

When they didn't need money from me, I was "that one from Grandma's house."

I'm twenty-six now. Twenty years. I stopped expecting them to call me their daughter a long time ago.

Until Grandma got sick.

Last October, Grandma was diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer.

When the call came, my hands were shaking.

I requested extended leave and rushed back to town.

Grandma had lost a lot of weight. Her hair was completely white.

Lying in the hospital bed, she saw me come in and smiled.

"Chloe's here."

"I'm here."

I held her hand. So thin. I could feel her bones.

"I'm going to take care of you."

Grandma shook her head. "No need. Your work"

"Work isn't important."

I looked at her.

"You're important."

Grandma's eyes turned red.

She didn't say anything. She just squeezed my hand tight.

For the next forty-seven days, I stayed at the hospital.

During the day I fed her, bathed her, accompanied her to tests.

At night I slept on the folding bed next to hers.

Forty-seven days. Scott came twice.

The first time he stayed half an hour, took a phone call in the hallway, and left.

The second time he brought a bag of fruit, set it down, and left.

Ruth came once. Sat for fifteen minutes, looked at the IV line, looked out the window, said to Grandma "Take care of yourself," and left.

Marcus never came. Not once.

Forty-seven days. Just me.

Once the attending physician pulled me aside and asked, "Where are your grandmother's other relatives?"

I said, "Just me."

He looked at me.

"You are...?"

"Granddaughter."

He was silent for a moment.

"Her other children should come visit too."

I smiled.

"They're busy."

During Grandma's last week in the hospital, she could barely speak anymore.

One night, she suddenly grabbed my hand.

"Chloe."

"Grandma, I'm here."

"In my closet... there's a metal box."

Her voice was very soft.

"There are some things inside... take them."

"Grandma"

"Take them." She looked at me. "They should be yours."

She said one more thing.

Her voice was very soft, but I heard it clearly.

"Chloe, the person I've wronged most in this life is you. You shouldn't have had to suffer through all that."

Ten days later, Grandma passed away.

Three days after Grandma died, I opened that metal box.

Inside were three things.