Staying up until dawn comparing renovation materials. Running between markets, haggling to save a few cents. Watching my bank account drop to near zero every month after the mortgage deduction.
For years, I had lived like a pauper to fund their lives. A decent salary, yet I lived more bitterly than anyone.
I had thought my sacrifice would buy me a safety net—a home that would always keep a light on for me.
Nothing but a delusion.
My phone buzzed. Margaret had posted a new status.
So happy! Tomorrow, the whole family goes on vacation!
Below the caption was a photo: Margaret, Raymond, and Diana.
Just the three of them.
What a happy family.
I stared at the photo, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. I tapped "like" without hesitation.
Then I closed the app and dialed the contractor who'd handled the renovation two years ago.
"Liam Dickerson? It's Sarah Henson. Do you remember the Greenview Heights project?"
"Of course!" His voice was warm, immediate. "You put so much heart into that place, Miss Sarah. The whole team remembers. What's wrong—plumbing? Wiring? Need some repairs?"
"No repairs." I cut straight to the point. "I need your team to restore the apartment to its original state. Before you touched it."
A pause. "I'm not sure I follow."
"Strip it. Everything I installed—gone."
Silence stretched for several seconds.
"Miss Sarah, that means tearing a fully renovated, high-end apartment down to bare concrete. You supervised every detail. Spent a fortune making it perfect." His voice dropped. "Why would you destroy it?"
I gripped the phone tighter. "Personal reasons."
A breath. Then, leaving no room for argument: "One requirement. Start tomorrow. Everything gone in forty-eight hours. Standard rate, plus overtime and a hardship bonus."
He sighed—the professional in him taking over. "Alright. If that's what you want. We'll be there first thing."
"Good. I'll meet you there."
I hung up, wired the deposit, and messaged work for emergency leave.
The next morning, once I confirmed Margaret and the others were well on their way to their vacation, I headed to the apartment.
The smart lock still recognized my fingerprint—a small irony. The door beeped open. Shortly after, Liam arrived with his crew.
He stood in the entryway, looking at the warm, exquisite interior. Then he turned to me.
"Miss Sarah... are we really doing this?"