Word spread. I got bigger clients. Soon, I was making more from my side projects than my day job. David encouraged me to take the leap. Start your own company, he said one night over Thai takeout. You’re good enough. You’re better than good enough. It’s risky. So is marrying a soldier, but you did that. He grinned.
Besides, worst case scenario, you come back to regular employment. Best case, you become the next tech millionaire, and I get to be your trophy husband. I launched my consulting firm 6 months later, Adeline Chen Solutions. I hired two contractors, rented a small office space, and threw myself into the work.
The first year was brutal. 70our weeks, constant stress clients who didn’t pay on time. But slowly, steadily, we grew. By year two, I had 15 employees. By year three, we’d landed contracts with three Fortune 500 companies. The money started rolling in real money, the kind I’d never imagined having.
David got promoted to major. We bought a house in Newport Beach with an ocean view. Life was everything I’d built despite my family not because of them. I didn’t talk to my parents during any of this. They’d call maybe twice a year awkward conversations where mom would ask surface level questions about my life and dad would barely speak.
They never asked about David. They never acknowledged the wedding they’d missed. Tyler would occasionally send me cryptocurrency advice through email as if we were casual acquaintances instead of siblings. I let the distance grow. It hurt less than trying. Then came the Porsche. I didn’t buy it to be flashy. I bought it because I’d spent my entire life driving handme-down cars and clunkers that barely ran.
And for once, I wanted something beautiful. A 911 Carrera S in guards red. Ridiculous and gorgeous and completely impractical for someone who mostly drove to office parks. David surprised me with it for our third anniversary. I cried in the dealership parking lot, then took it down the Pacific Coast Highway, going probably 20 m over the speed limit, feeling more free than I had in years.
Rachel convinced me to post a photo on Instagram. I rarely used social media anymore, had barely posted in the 3 years since the wedding, but I’d never changed my privacy settings, and Tyler still followed my account even though we barely spoke. She insisted, “You deserve to show off a little,” she said.
“Post the damn car, Adeline. Let the world see you’re thriving.” So I did one photo of me leaning against the Porsche in front of our house, the ocean visible in the background. The caption was simple anniversary gift from my amazing husband. Feeling grateful for this life we built together. I tagged David. I didn’t tag anyone else.
I’d unfollowed most of my family years ago. Anyway, the post got the usual likes from friends and colleagues. I forgot about it within hours. 3 days later, my phone rang at 700 in the morning. unknown number with a Massachusetts area code. I almost didn’t answer, but something made me pick up.
Adeline, mom’s voice was tight and controlled. We need to talk. Family meeting tomorrow at 2. Your father and I expect you there. My stomach dropped. What? Don’t play dumb. We saw your Instagram. We know about the car. We know about the house. And frankly, we’re concerned about the choices you’re making. I sat up in bed suddenly wide awake. Concerned.
You haven’t talked to me in 3 years, except for obligatory birthday calls. We’re your parents. We’re always concerned. Now, the meeting is at 2 tomorrow at the house. Tyler will be there, too. We have things to discuss. Her voice softened artificially. Important family things. We’ve all missed you, sweetheart. The endearment felt like fingernails on a chalkboard.
She hadn’t called me sweetheart since I was 12. I live in California, Mom. I can’t just fly out for a meeting tomorrow, then make it the day after or next week. But this is happening, Adeline. It’s time to fix this family. She hung up before I could refuse. I stared at my phone, feeling that old, familiar anxiety creep up my spine.
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