My phone buzzed. A text from Jessie. Mom told me what happened. I’m so, so sorry.
I stared at the words, a hollow feeling spreading through me. Then I deleted the message without a reply. ‘Sorry’ couldn’t reconstruct a two-and-a-half-million-dollar fortune. ‘Sorry’ didn’t change the fact that I was destined to work double shifts until I was too old to stand.
It was after nine when I finally returned to my apartment in Fishtown. The space felt different, smaller, and imbued with a profound sadness that hadn’t been there that morning. That morning, I had been a millionaire. Now, I was just Chloe Evans, RN, back to scrutinizing every line of my budget and wondering if I’d ever escape the cycle of renting.
The next day, I called in sick, something I never did unless I was physically incapable of moving. I did the same the day after. By Friday, my supervisor, Brenda, was leaving increasingly worried voicemails, asking if I was alright. I wasn’t alright. I wasn’t sure I would ever be alright again.
On Saturday morning, I forced myself to go to the grocery store. I was in the cereal aisle, dumbly staring at the rising prices, when a familiar voice chirped behind me.
“Well, if it isn’t the millionaire herself!”
I turned to see Mrs. Gable from two doors down, a woman whose knowledge of neighborhood gossip was legendary. She wore a knowing smile that told me everything.
“Hey, Mrs. Gable,” I managed, trying to sound casual.
“I heard the news about your big win, dear,” she said, stepping closer as if sharing a state secret. “Two and a half million! Good heavens. You must be over the moon.”
I wanted to tell her the truth. I wanted to unload the whole insane story, to explain that there was no money, that my own mother had destroyed the ticket. But the confession lodged in my throat.
“Yeah,” I said instead. “It’s pretty wild.”
“Your mother must be bursting with pride,” Mrs. Gable went on. “And your dear sister, too. You girls are going to be set for life.”
“Something like that,” I mumbled, grabbing a random box of Cheerios.
“You know, I always told my husband you were destined for great things,” she said, trailing me toward the dairy section. “Even as a little girl, you had that look of determination. And now look at you, richer than Croesus.”
I nodded, mumbled an excuse about an appointment, and fled. But her words echoed in my mind all the way home. Richer than Croesus. If only she knew the truth.
That afternoon, I made a choice. I was done with the pretense. The secret was a physical weight, a stone in my gut. I was going to tell people what really happened. I was going to tell them what kind of mother would burn her own daughter’s winning lottery ticket.
I started with Olivia, my best friend since we’d survived nursing school together. We met at our usual spot, a small coffee shop in Center City that served the only decent iced tea in a ten-mile radius.
“Girl, I heard!” she exclaimed before I had even settled into my chair. “Why didn’t you call me? I had to find out from my cousin who works at the Wawa where you bought the ticket!”
“Olivia,” I said, my voice low and serious. “There’s something you need to know.”
For the next hour, I unburdened myself. I told her everything: buying the ticket, checking the numbers online until my eyes blurred, the ugly fight with my mom, and the horror of watching my future turn to smoke. Olivia listened intently, her eyes growing wider with each detail.
“She burned it?” she finally whispered when I was done. “Your mother actually burned a check worth two and a half million dollars.”
“In the kitchen sink,” I confirmed, nodding. “I saw the whole thing.”
Olivia was silent for a long moment, stirring her already sweetened tea. “Chloe,” she said at last, her voice gentle. “I love you to death. But I have to ask… and I need you to be totally honest.”
“Okay?”
“Are you positive you won? Like, one hundred percent positive?”
I stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
“I just mean… sometimes people get it wrong. The numbers look similar, or they misread the date. Sometimes, when we’re under a lot of stress, our minds can play tricks on us.”
“Olivia, I checked the numbers five times. I had the official lottery website open. I called the automated hotline. I won. Two and a half million dollars.”
Even as I said the words with conviction, a tiny, insidious seed of doubt began to sprout. Had I been careful enough? Was I so desperate for a miracle that I had willed it into existence?
“I’m just saying,” Olivia continued softly. “Maybe it’s worth double-checking. Go online, look at the numbers again. Just to be absolutely certain.”
I wanted to be angry with her for questioning me, for questioning my sanity. But a small, terrifying part of me was already starting to question myself.
That night, sleep was impossible. I replayed the sequence over and over. The numbers. The ticket. The look on my mother’s face as she struck the match. Was there something in her eyes I had misinterpreted? A flicker of knowledge that I had missed?
By Sunday morning, I had a new plan. I was going to get the truth. First thing Monday, I would go to the Pennsylvania Lottery headquarters in Harrisburg with my purchase receipt and my memory. I would make them tell me, definitively, what had happened.
But first, I had to survive Sunday dinner at my mother’s house. It was a weekly tradition I had dodged for two weeks, but my absence was becoming a statement I couldn’t afford to make.
The house smelled of fried chicken and macaroni and cheese when I arrived—the signature scent of my childhood. But the familiar comfort was gone. The hallway felt longer, and the family photos on the walls seemed to judge me as I walked toward the kitchen.
Jessie was at the table, scrolling on her phone. She glanced up as I entered, her face a canvas of guilt.
“Hey,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“Hey,” I replied, not trusting myself with more.
My mother stood at the stove, her back to me. Her shoulders tensed at my arrival. “Dinner’s just about ready,” she said to the wall.
I sat opposite Jessie, and we began to eat in a silence so thick and suffocating it felt like a physical presence. Normally, these dinners were filled with laughter and chatter, with Mom fussing over us. Today, we were three strangers sharing a meal.
Finally, Jessie set down her fork. “Chloe, I have to say something.” I waited. “I never asked you for any of that money,” she began. “I didn’t even know you’d won until… until after.”
“I know,” I said, and it was true. This was never entirely about Jessie.
“And I want you to know,” she continued, “I’ve been looking for work. A real job. I had three interviews last week.”
This was news. I shot a look at Mom, who was still meticulously studying her plate. “What kind of jobs?” I asked.
“Admin stuff mostly. Receptionist, data entry. I know it’s not my dream, but I’m twenty-six. I can’t live like this forever.”
Something inside me shifted. A tiny crack appeared in the fortress of anger I had constructed. “That’s good, Jessie. That’s really good.”
“And I also want you to know… if you had shared the money with me, I would have used it to get my own apartment and help Mom fix up this house. I wouldn’t have just… blown it.”
“I know,” I said again, and this time, I truly meant it. Jessie was a dreamer, but she wasn’t malicious or greedy.
My mother finally looked up. “You are both good girls,” she said, her voice heavy with emotion. “I raised you to be good girls. That’s why this has been so devastating for me.”
“Devastating for you?” The bitterness I’d been suppressing overflowed. “You’re not the one who’s out two and a half million dollars.”
“No,” she conceded. “But I am the one who had to watch her child’s heart turn cold over money. I’m the one who had to burn that ticket to save your soul.”
“Save my soul?” I let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Mom, you annihilated my life to save my soul.”
“I saved you from becoming someone you wouldn’t even recognize,” she insisted, her voice firm. “I saved you from turning into the kind of person who lives in a mansion while her family is struggling to get by. The kind of person who forgets where she came from.”
“That isn’t fair,” I shot back. “You have no idea who I would have become.”
“Don’t I?” Her voice was quiet but pierced through my defenses. “You were already becoming her, Chloe. You were already looking down your nose at your sister because her life wasn’t on the same track as yours. You were already spending that money in your head before it ever hit your bank account.”
