“I’ve been sending you $1,500 a month for rent,” my grandfather said in front of everyone.but

A Tense Thanksgiving and the $90,000 Secret

“Amanda, I hope the $1,500 I give you monthly has made your life easier.”

The owner of that low, resonant voice was my grandfather, who sat at the far end of the table. It was Thanksgiving Day.

My grandfather, who is usually extremely busy as a businessman and rarely showed his face at family gatherings, had unusually decided to join the dinner this year. Because of that, my father, Jonathan Brooks, my mother, Karen Brooks, and my younger sister, Madison, were desperately acting as if they were welcoming royalty.

There was the highest quality turkey, mashed potatoes lavishly filled with truffles, and a vintage wine from the year my grandfather was born. The living room was filled with the savory scent of the dishes and the cheerful laughter of my family.

Being able to see my grandfather again after such a long time was a great joy for me. To tell the truth, ever since I left home, I had never attended Thanksgiving at my family home.

I originally had no intention of coming that day either, but I couldn’t refuse my grandfather’s earnest invitation.

He said: “I’ll come this year, so Amanda, you come with me.”

And so I crossed the threshold for the first time in years. However, that perfectly staged atmosphere and my family’s insincere behavior made me feel unbearably uncomfortable.

As my father and the others tried to keep my grandfather in a good mood, the occasional glances they shot at me carried an unspoken pressure. They were telling me not to say anything unnecessary.

Eventually, the main dish was cleared away, and pumpkin pie with a sweet spice aroma and coffee were brought out. Then the family’s tension loosened slightly, and a relaxed atmosphere began to spread.

My grandfather quietly placed his coffee cup back on its saucer and suddenly fixed his gaze directly on me. In his eyes was a pure sense of concern for his granddaughter whom he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Amanda, haven’t you lost a little weight? How are you feeling? You shouldn’t push yourself too hard.”

The unexpected kindness made the tension in my heart loosen just a little. I gave him the best smile I could and answered as brightly as possible.

“Thank you, Grandpa. I’m doing well, and if you’d like, you can come visit my place sometime.”

My grandfather narrowed his eyes with delight and nodded.

“Ah, I would love to.”

And then he continued: “Have you gotten used to living alone? Becoming independent is no easy task.”

My grandfather went on with casual conversation in a gentle tone. But then, as if remembering something, he added more words.

“Well, as long as you have a solid financial foundation, I suppose you can live with some peace of mind. With my monthly support, you don’t have to worry about rent and your life should be much easier, right?”

The sound of cutlery stopped, and every gaze in the room pierced into me sitting small in the corner of the table. I couldn’t keep up with the sudden question, and I barely managed to squeeze out my voice.

“What are you talking about, Grandpa?”

My question echoed emptily through the tense silence.

“Ah, if it’s about that money, you don’t need to worry.”

My father quickly cut in, interrupting my words with a swift tone. He didn’t even bother wiping the sweat forming on his forehead as he forced a fixed smile toward Grandpa.

“Amanda can be a little naive about the world, you know. Since she’s not good at managing money, we simply took responsibility and handled it for her.”

Those words were like oil poured onto an open flame, making my grandfather’s expression grow even harsher.

“Manage it, you say?”

His voice was low, tightly suppressing his anger.

“Then answer me, Jonathan. If Amanda is supposed to be the one benefiting from this, why does she look as though she knows nothing about it? Can you show me proof right here, right now, that my money is truly being used for this child just as you claim?”

The moment my father stumbled for words, my mother suddenly cut in. Her voice was trembling as though she were playing the tragic heroine.

“Dad, how can you say something so cruel? You know how much we worry about Amanda, don’t you? She’s always been a difficult child, and we’ve been doing everything we can to protect her.”

But my grandfather was no longer fooled by her theatrics. He cut her off and exclaimed: “Be quiet, Karen! It was you who begged me for financial help in the first place.”

The air in the living room grew even colder. He then continued: “Was it 5 winters ago, with your voice trembling on the phone, you told me this: ‘Amanda left home without listening to our advice. She’s sick and we’re worried she won’t be able to live alone. We can’t sleep at night.’ I believed those words. I believed in your concern for your daughter and started sending the money. And now look. All I hear from this child is, ‘What are you talking about? Explain to me what is going on.'”

Exposed by the truth, her face turned deathly pale, and she was left speechless. When she looked around as if begging for help, Madison suddenly shouted in a shrill voice.

“Grandpa, stop it already! You’re going too far!”

Madison stood up and glared at me.

“You have no idea how much Mom and Dad have struggled. Amanda, you’re always like this, always talking about your own pain and suffering and never once thinking about how much everyone else has supported you. Even if you got the money, you just blow it all on meds or whatever nonsense you waste money on. That’s why Mom and Dad have been managing it for you. What’s wrong with that?”

Those words became the final trigger. Madison knew; she knew exactly what our parents had been doing, benefited from it, and helped deceive me all this time.