Chapter 1

The news that Aunt Hildegarde was coming home went into the family group chat. No one answered.

My father said:

"That penniless jinx. She's still got the nerve to show her face."

My uncle said:

"When she comes, I'm not giving her the time of day. And you shouldn't either, big brother."

Growing up, my aunt was the family's cautionary tale.

Twenty years ago she stole the family papers and married a poor man from the mountains named Mark Chavez.

The whole family cursed her for being a lovesick fool with no ambition.

They wouldn't even let her through the door. Grandma told her to go check into a motel.

I chased after her and told her she could stay at my place.

The next day, she handed me a share transfer agreement.

Ten million.

She said:

"Trudy Harrington, you're my niece. I won't let anyone treat you badly."

It was only later that I learned her husband, Mark Chavez, was the mining tycoon Mark Chavez himself.

The penniless nobody the whole family had cursed for twenty years had been on the rich list for years.

1

In the family group chat, my aunt sent one line:

"I'd like to come home the day after tomorrow."

"To celebrate Mom's seventieth birthday."

No one answered.

The message hung there on the screen, alone, ignored.

My father saw it, gave a cold snort, and slapped his phone face-down on the table.

"That penniless jinx. She's actually got the nerve to come back?"

My uncle immediately messaged my father:

"Big brother, did you see what little sister posted?"

"When she gets here, I'm definitely not giving her the time of day. Don't you either."

My father wrote back:

"You think I need you to tell me that?"

Because twenty years ago, she stole the family papers and married a poor man from the mountains named Mark Chavez.

Grandma would slam down her chopsticks at the mention of her:

"Hildegarde Harrington, that disgraceful thing. Don't bring her up."

My father frowned whenever anyone spoke of her:

"I'm not her brother."

And my mother would say to me:

"Whatever you do, don't turn out like your aunt. A lovesick fool who threw away her whole family for some poor boy."

"Ate well at home her whole life, then ran off to the mountains to eat dirt."

What kind of place did that man come from back then?

A house built of stacked stone, no running water, no electricity.

They bathed in collected rainwater, and the toilet was a pit you squatted over.

The floor of the house couldn't even afford brick, and one rain turned it into ankle-deep mud.

Our family had planned to marry her off to Mason Whitney, the richest man in the area.

The bride price he offered would have let my father take over a shop and gotten my uncle a secure government job.

Then she ran.

My uncle cursed every time it came up:

"Water in her brains!"

"So many men were chasing her back then, and she chose to be a hillbilly."

My mother made a point of warning me:

"Trudy, don't go anywhere near her. Poverty is bad luck."

That day, I got off work and had just reached the mouth of the alley by the old family house when I spotted my aunt.

She was carrying a half-worn travel bag, dressed plainly, but her face was still lovely.

"Aunt Hildegarde?"

She turned to look at me, blinked in surprise, then smiled.

"Is that Trudy?"

"You've grown so big."

I dimly remembered how, when I was little, my aunt used to sit me on the back of her bicycle and take me out for cotton candy.

Before I could answer, the door of the old house behind her banged open.

Grandma stood in the doorway, looking at her the way you'd look at a bag of garbage, every line of her face full of disgust.

"Who told you to come back?"

There was a flicker of hurt in my aunt's eyes, but she kept smiling.

"Mom, it's your seventieth birthday. When I was little I promised I'd throw it for you."

"Who wants anything from you?"

Grandma turned and walked back inside, tossing over her shoulder:

"Couldn't hack it out there anymore, so you came crawling back?"

I brought my aunt inside.

My father was sitting on the living room couch, playing a card game on his phone, not even lifting his head.

My mother poked her head out from the kitchen and gave a dry little laugh.

"Well now, Hildegarde's back?"

"Life in the mountains rough, is it?"

"Sit, sit. Trudy, get your aunt some bottled water, she can't get any out in the mountains."

My aunt stood in the doorway, gripping the strap of that travel bag, her smile barely holding on.

My father finally grunted.

"A birthday? Since when do you care about this family?"

"If you'd had any heart, you'd have married Mason Whitney back then. I'd have taken over that shop years ago, been my own boss."

"And if your second brother could've gotten Mason Whitney to give him a leg up, he wouldn't be working as a security guard now."

"Selfish. Only ever thought about yourself. Never once thought about the rest of us."

"And now you show up? You've got the nerve?"

My aunt opened her mouth to explain, but Grandma cut her off and pointed out the door.

"There's a motel over that way. Go yourself. There's no room for you here."

I froze.

A daughter who hadn't come home in twenty years, thrown out to a motel by her own mother less than three minutes through the door.

My aunt lowered her head, a trace of helplessness on her face.

"All right."

My mother had already started bringing out the food, a whole table of steaming home-cooked dishes.

My aunt was worn out from the trip and clearly hadn't eaten, but not one person said a single word to her — not even "Sit down and eat."

Watching my aunt stand there so lost, something in me ached.

I couldn't stop myself.

"Grandma, Aunt Hildegarde is a person too. She has the right to choose her own life."

My mother slammed a dish down on the table.

"What nonsense is that? She's shameless, that's what she is. Nobody can top her."

"If she'd married Mason Whitney, would you still be going to work? Your father's shop would've grown big, and you'd have been living like a young lady at home."

"And you're taking her side?"

"Keep sticking up for that penniless jinx and you can go call her your mother."

My aunt's face was harder and harder to hold together.