Chapter 1

I cared for my paralyzed grandmother for eight years, but my brother stole my caregiving journals and passed off my work as his own to get into the Anthem Care Group. At the signing dinner, he forced me to admit I'd stolen money and abused an old woman, then slapped his job offer in my face. "Someone who wipes crap and piss all day will never set foot in our company." The next second, the general manager stepped past him and pulled out the head seat for me. "Chairwoman Pruitt, the three-hundred-million eldercare project is ready to sign."

Chapter One

The lock turned six times in a row.

I'd just finished changing Grandma's pad when I came out to find six suitcases sitting in the living room.

My dad was directing Hudson to haul things inside.

"Master bedroom goes to Hudson and April Swanson. Your mom and I take the second room. Freda, you move into the living room. That way it's easier to look after the old woman at night."

The place had exactly two bedrooms. He said it without even glancing at me, as though where I ended up was nothing anyone needed to discuss.

April had already shoved my door open. She stood the folding cot against the wall, then grabbed the laptop off my desk and dumped it on top of the washing machine.

On the screen, the project meeting was still running.

"Chairwoman Pruitt, before we sign the community renovation project, we still need to keep—"

She yanked the power cord straight out.

"One lousy customer-service call and it never ends."

The screen went dark. I stood there a moment before I reached over and closed the lid.

I picked up the laptop and said nothing. The project was still under confidentiality review, and I wanted to know too—where all the files that kept vanishing from my computer would finally end up.

Grandma called for me from the bedroom.

The moment I stepped in, I saw Hudson propping up his phone, shoving a cup of water against her mouth. Grandma has trouble swallowing, and the water ran down her chin into her collar. Her chest jerked with the coughing, but he was too busy adjusting the frame to notice.

"Smile. A sour face hurts the watch-through rate."

Once he'd filmed the feeding and the leg-rubbing, he kicked the wet towel and the soiled pad over to my feet. Then he posted the video straight to the family group chat.

Day 2,920 by Grandma's side. From now on, it's my turn to protect you.

The second uncle liked it right away.

Hudson's such a good grandson. Not like some people—living in the old woman's house, spending the old woman's money.

I stared at those numbers for two seconds.

2,920 days is exactly how long I'd cared for Grandma, not one day short. Hudson had been home for three hours.

At dinner, my dad spread out the housing-allocation chart.

"One unit for me and your mom, one for Hudson when he marries. The last one gets sold, to fund his eldercare project."

At the very bottom was my name.

Freda Pruitt, houseguest for eight years. After deducting caregiving labor, still owes the family $146,000.

"And what about me?"

My dad rapped his knuckles on the table.

"You wipe crap and piss for your own grandmother and you want a salary too?"

Grandma snatched up a spoon and hurled it at him.

"The house is mine!"

Half her body wouldn't obey her, and the spoon only rolled under the table. My mom clamped a hand down on her.

"You're in this state now. Stop worrying about it."

Hudson smiled and opened an email.

Anthem Care Group, Regional Manager. Final-round interview notification.

"Four hundred grand a year. What they want is my eight years of experience caring for a paralyzed old woman."

Then he snapped a photo of a thick stack—Eight Years of Family Caregiving Journals—with the author listed as Hudson Pruitt.

The date of the stroke, the location of every bedsore, the intervals between turning her over—every word of it I had written down myself. Last week, it had vanished from my computer.

"You wrote this?"

He pressed a hand flat over the papers.

"It's all family property. Why split hairs over yours and mine? Caregiving is grunt work. Being able to write it all up—that's the real skill."

The hand I'd started to reach out stopped. Grabbing it back would mean nothing. I only took a photo of the document's reference number.

Grandma suddenly called out to me.

"Freda, where's my card?"

Under the pillow, the cloth pouch that held her bank card was empty.

April, meanwhile, raised her wrist in her livestream, the new gold bracelet flashing hard.

"Sixty-eight grand. A little welcome gift from Grandma."