I led a straightforward life. I woke up at six, packed lunches, dropped my daughter off at school, worked all day, came home, cooked dinner, helped with homework, and went to bed. The same routine every day—no surprises, no drama. Just steady, honest living. My daughter was my everything, and every decision I made revolved around her.
I raised her on my own. Her father disappeared before she was born, and I spent weeks crying. But now? I can’t even remember his last name. That’s how much I’ve moved on.
I built my life step by step. I started as a receptionist and worked my way up to office manager. I took night classes, skipped vacations, bought my apartment without a co-signer, and paid off my car in full.
My dad—rest his soul—always said, “Earn everything yourself. Don’t wait for luck or a man.” I took that advice to heart. I still do.
Then there’s Jasmine, my younger sister. She was always sparkling and carefree, floating through life with a smile. If life was a storm, she’d find a boyfriend to weather it out with. Her Instagram was full of palm trees, poolside selfies, and flirty captions.
She used to tell me, “Relax, Audrey. You’re always planning. When are you going to live?”
I wanted to say, “When I can afford rent and an emergency fund at the same time,” but I didn’t. Jasmine lived in a world where things always worked out… until they didn’t.
She hit rock bottom when boyfriends left and bills piled up. I heard her crying over the phone one night. No questions asked, I just wired her money. Even Mom, still in Dad’s house, would call for help. “Just a little this month.”
I always helped quietly, no lectures, just support.
Then came the Friday afternoon at the gas station. I had a purse full of loose change and decided to buy a lottery ticket to get rid of it. Later that night, while folding laundry, I scratched it absentmindedly. Three matching numbers. Then more. I checked the results three times.
I had won. A lot.
The next evening, we gathered at Mom’s house for her birthday lunch. She made her famous pot roast, filling the house with that comforting smell. But the atmosphere was tense, as usual.
We took turns sharing “updates,” which in our family were just problems dressed up as news. Jasmine went first. “I had to sell my vintage mirror,” she said, stabbing her salad dramatically. “You know, the one from Paris.”
Mom nodded in sympathy. Then all eyes turned to me. I hesitated. Something inside me told me it was time to speak.
“I won the lottery,” I said, putting the teapot down. “But don’t worry, I’m donating it to charity.”
Jasmine choked on her lemonade. “What?!”
I patted her back. “You’re giving it away?” she gasped, eyes wide. “Are you crazy?”
“They’re easy money. Easy money doesn’t bring peace. I have everything I need. This might help someone who doesn’t.”
Jasmine blinked. “That’s insane. Luck finally smiles at you, and you throw it away.”
“I don’t believe in luck. I believe in hard work, saving, and planning.”
Mom put down her fork. “Think about your daughter.”
“I already set up savings for her future,” I said, looking her in the eye.
Silence. The kind that made you itch. I tried to lighten the mood. “Don’t worry, you’re still getting good gifts. I’m not heartless.”
Jasmine chuckled, but Mom muttered, “Well, that’s generous of you.”
We ate in silence.
Sunday morning came, and I curled up in my chair with my cinnamon tea, scrolling through charity websites. I was excited to give the money a purpose, something bigger than me.
Then the doorbell rang. It was barely 9 a.m. I opened the door to find Jasmine, her makeup smeared, her face tense like she was holding back tears.
“I need to talk,” she said.
I stepped aside without asking questions.
We sat down, and after a long silence, Jasmine said, “Remember Liam? The one who hurt me?”
I nodded slowly.
“I’m pregnant,” she said, looking down at her tea.
The words hit like a cold wave. “You’re pregnant?” I repeated.
She nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t work full-time. I’m too dizzy. I can’t afford a nanny or a bigger place. If I could get a loan… I swear I’ll pay it back.”
A loan. Of course. But she’s my sister.
“Move in with me,” I said. “You’ll have your own room. I’ll help.”
She paused, hesitant. “Or… if I could get some of your lottery money, I could manage alone.”
There it was.
“Alright,” I said. “I’ll split it. Half to charity, half to you.”
Jasmine hugged me, “You’re a saint, Audrey.”
I didn’t respond. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Mom: “I’m at the hospital. Please come. I have bad news.”
We rushed to the hospital. Mom was sitting alone in the hallway, looking exhausted. I knelt in front of her. “Why didn’t you tell us you were sick?”
She sighed. “I only suspected, but these are the results. Treatment is expensive, and I’m not sure I can afford it.”
“You can,” I said without hesitation. “I’ll use the lottery money.”
“Part of it,” Jasmine added quickly.
“Right,” I said. “Half. I promised Jasmine. She’s pregnant.”
Mom looked surprised. “Pregnant?”
I nodded. “And the donation can wait. Health comes first.”
Later, I drove them home, feeling the weight of everything. When we arrived, Jasmine quickly offered, “I’ll stay with her for a few days.”
“That’s kind of you,” I said, grateful.
Then I left to finalize the lottery money paperwork, but halfway to the office, I realized I’d forgotten my phone. I turned back to Mom’s house, feeling uneasy.
I entered quietly, using my key. I overheard Jasmine and Mom in the living room.
“She actually bought it,” Jasmine said smugly.
“You didn’t have to lie,” Mom replied.
“I saw the test results when I stayed over. I’m not buying her charity talk.”
“That’s not the point, Jasmine. I needed help,” Mom said. “And Audrey’s throwing money at strangers.”
They were playing me.
I stepped into the room, calmly stating, “I guess I interrupted something.”
Jasmine’s phone fell to the couch. Mom tightened her grip on her teacup.
“You two are used to comfort, not consequences. That ends now.”
I turned to Jasmine. “You want a future? I’ll pay for your internship. You’ll work, study, and earn every penny.”
Then to Mom. “I’ll cover your debts, but you’re taking financial literacy classes. Twice a week.”
Mom blinked. “Financial what?”
“You’ll learn to live within your means. No more lies.”
Jasmine whispered, “Audrey…”
I met her gaze. “No more manipulation. You wanted me to live life? This is me, on my terms.”
There was no argument, just silence. And for the first time in a long while, I felt strong.
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