The Family Chat That Answered Everyone Except Me Chapter 05
The transfer city was Seabrook. Right on the coast. Windy as hell—the kind of cold that cuts straight through your coat in winter.
It was raining when I arrived. I walked out of the train station alone, dragging my suitcase, hood pulled up. Nobody waiting.
The rental was on the sixth floor of an old building. No elevator. Two dead bulbs in the stairwell.
But the moment I pushed the door open, the quiet hit me like a different world.
Nobody calling my name to make coffee. Nobody texting me to grab toilet paper on my way home. Nobody watching me clutch my side when I bent over and saying nothing.
My phone stayed silent for three full days.
On the fourth day, Mom messaged.
“Elena, where’s your dad’s winter coat? I can’t find it anywhere.”
Not asking if I’d arrived. Not asking if Seabrook was cold.
Looking for a coat.
I typed back: “Hall closet, top shelf, left side.”
“Found it.”
End of conversation.
Two days later, Ethan posted in the family group chat.
—
“We’re out of laundry detergent. Who’s buying?”
Mom tagged Victoria.
Victoria replied: “I’m out. Elena should get it.”
Mom tagged me.
“Elena?”
I typed out: “I’m in Seabrook. Out-of-state transfer.”
The chat went dead silent for a solid minute.
Then Mom messaged me privately.
“When did that happen? Why didn’t you tell us?”
You started a whole separate group chat called “The Grayson Four” and planned a Thanksgiving trip without me. You didn’t tell me about that, either.
I typed back four words.
“Left last week.”
“How long?”
“Two-year contract.”
She didn’t reply.
That evening, the family group got lively again. Victoria posted renovation photos of her new boutique. Ethan asked Mom if she could pay his speeding ticket tomorrow.
—
Nobody asked why I’d suddenly requested a transfer. Nobody said, “You just had surgery—how can you move two thousand miles away?”
But Collins messaged me.
“You get there okay? I sent you a care package. Send me the address.”
I sent it, then added: “Collins, I’ll pay you back the twenty-one thousand next month when my first check hits.”
“Don’t rush. Take care of yourself first.”
Month one: I lived on oatmeal and toast. Paid Collins back in full.
The follow-up results came in—no worsening adhesions. The doctor said I was healing well. Must be because I hadn’t been doing any heavy lifting lately.
I almost laughed. Nobody around to ask me to anymore.
Month two: my boss dumped a cross-departmental project on the team. Coordinating three departments, seven rounds of revisions, meetings dragging past nine every night.
Nobody raised their hand.
I did. Not to impress anyone. For the performance bonus—twelve thousand dollars.
I needed that money.