They Called Me Selfish for Asking Him to Feed His Own Son Chapter 09
They started believing Derek was right.
A son who’s a saint-that’s better than a son who just makes money.
So they shoved all the pressure onto me.
“Derek’s doing something that actually matters. You take care of the little stuff.”
“That money’s going toward a bigger purpose. Show a little support.”
“This family has a reputation now. You should feel lucky just to be along for the ride.”
And just like that, I became the workhorse.
Derek played saint outside. Adored and praised.
His parents and son basked in the glow. Compliments everywhere they went.
Only me-exhausted, breaking my back, carrying the whole weight-got nothing but more expectations.
I gave everything for that family. And all I got for it was being the bad guy.
Pathetic.
But at least it’s over.
From now on, Clara Benson lives for herself.
I turn off the light and close my eyes. That night, I sleep even more soundly.
The next six months are the quietest, most fulfilling of my life.
Up at six. Jog a few laps around the training center. Breakfast. Class. Notes. Group discussions. Final
presentations.
Life becomes neat squares. Everything in its place. Not a minute wasted.
The training is harder than I expected.
Beyond technical skills-management, finance, marketing, even speech training.
Six months fly by.
On the last day, the center director calls us all together. A man in his fifties, gray hair, bright eyes. Speaks with power.
He looks at us and says, “This group-the highest caliber I’ve seen in over a dozen sessions. Especially Clara
Shaw.”
His eyes land on me. “I’ve looked over her design work and sat through her presentation. The way she’s
grown-honestly, one of the most impressive I’ve ever seen. Clara, you’ve got serious potential. Get out there and make the most of it. Don’t let these six months go to waste.”
I nod hard.
The day I leave the center, the sky is clear.
I take a deep breath, pull out the receipt I’ve held for six months, and pick up my phone at the front desk.
I tear open the sealed bag and hold down the power button.
The screen lights up.
And the phone starts screaming.
Notifications waterfall down the screen. Texts, missed calls, DMs-all flooding in at once. The vibration
stings my palm.
I wait nearly two minutes for it to stop.
Missed calls and messages-way too many to count.
I don’t check Facebook Messenger yet. I go to my texts first.
Hundreds of unread messages. Numbers from all over the country.
[Clara, you’re a piece of work. Your husband’s such a good guy and you’re still not happy? What is wrong with you?]
[Stealing from charity? Do you have no conscience?]
[You’re trash. Walked out on your kid. He’s only five. How could you?]
[You’ll get what’s coming to you.]
My hands shake. My skin goes cold.
