Chapter 4 - What Amber Had Been Telling Everyone
For several seconds, I thought I had misunderstood him.
“What do you mean she hasn’t been living there?”
Frank Benton lowered his voice.
“I thought you knew.”
“I’m paying the rent.”
“I know.”
“So who’s living there?”
Another pause.
“That’s the problem.”
I sat down at the kitchen table.
Frank explained carefully.
Three months earlier, Amber had contacted him and asked whether she could temporarily let a “friend” stay in the apartment.
Frank said no.
Her lease prohibited subletting.
Two weeks later, neighbors started complaining about unfamiliar cars.
Then building maintenance discovered that Amber’s name was no longer on the mailbox.
A man named Trevor had apparently been living there with another adult.
Frank had tried to contact Amber.
She avoided him.
He sent notices.
Then, because the monthly rent continued arriving from my bank account, he called the number attached to the payment record.
Mine.
I hadn’t answered because the number showed as unknown.
“I sent you a certified letter,” he said.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
My stomach dropped.
“So where is Amber living?”
“I assumed with family.”
She wasn’t.
Not with Mom.
Not with me.
Not with any relative I knew.
“Frank, please don’t take any action until I understand what’s happening.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“I understand.”
“The lease violation is serious.”
“I know.”
“And Cole?”
“Yeah?”
“The rent you’ve been sending is more than the current amount due.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“The rent decreased after we renewed.”
“How much?”
“Seventeen hundred.”
I had been sending $1,850.
“Where did the difference go?”
“We applied the amount received. The account has a credit.”
That should have relieved me.
Instead, it made everything stranger.
“Thanks, Frank.”
After I hung up, I called Amber.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
I sent one text.
Where are you living?
She replied two minutes later.
Why?
I typed:
Because Frank says you haven’t lived at the apartment in three months.
Nothing.
Then the typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally:
I can explain.
I called.
This time she answered.
“Where are you?”
“Cole—”
“Where are you living?”
“With someone.”
“Who?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters if I’m paying for an apartment you don’t live in.”
“I needed the apartment.”
“You’re not using it.”
“I needed the address.”
I went quiet.
“What does that mean?”
“For Lily’s school.”
There it was.
Amber had moved outside the district.
She wanted Lily to remain at the same school.
So she kept the apartment lease.
“Who is Trevor?”
“A friend.”
“Living in the apartment I pay for?”
“He helps with bills.”
My eyes closed.
“How much?”
“What?”
“How much does he pay you?”
Silence.
“Amber.”
“Eight hundred.”
I stood.
“You’re collecting eight hundred dollars from someone living in an apartment whose full rent I pay?”
“It’s not like that.”
Again.
Those four words.
“It is exactly like that.”
“I use that money for Lily.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
“You told me you had no income.”
“I don’t have a job.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
She became defensive.
“You want receipts now?”
“No. I want the truth.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
She was quiet.
Then she said, “I moved in with Ryan.”
I knew the name.
Ryan Mercer.
She had dated him briefly the previous year.
Or so I thought.
“You told us you stopped seeing him.”
“I didn’t.”
“Why lie?”
“Because Mom hates him.”
That was true.
Mom had met Ryan once and disliked him immediately.
He was divorced, older than Amber, and worked irregular construction contracts.
But that didn’t explain the apartment.
“Does Ryan charge you rent?”
“No.”
“So for three months, you’ve lived rent-free with Ryan, collected eight hundred dollars from Trevor, and let me continue paying eighteen-fifty?”
“You make it sound disgusting.”
“What would you call it?”
“Survival.”
I laughed without humor.
“No.”
“You have money, Cole.”
“That sentence is not an explanation.”
“You don’t miss it.”
“That doesn’t make it yours.”
She went silent.
I thought about every month she had called me.
I’m still struggling.
One more month.
I’m almost there.
Lily needs stability.
Meanwhile, she had quietly found a new place to live and turned my support into income.
“I’m done,” I said.
“What does that mean?”
“No more rent. No utilities. No emergency transfers.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“Because of a cake.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Then what?”
“Because the cake finally made me look at what I had been refusing to see.”
She breathed sharply.
“Mom was right about you.”
“What did Mom say?”
Another silence.
“Nothing.”
“Amber.”
“She said eventually you would hold everything over my head.”
That one hurt.
Not because Amber said it.
Because I believed Mom probably had.
“When?”
“A long time ago.”
“Before or after she asked me to keep paying your rent?”
Amber didn’t answer.
I ended the call.
Then I called Mom.
She answered immediately.
“You spoke to Frank.”
Not a question.
“You knew.”
“Cole—”
“You knew Amber moved.”
“Yes.”
“You knew she was subletting.”
“I knew someone was helping with the apartment.”
“That’s a generous description.”
“I told her it was a bad idea.”
“But you didn’t tell me.”
“She asked me not to.”
“I was paying.”
“I know.”
“You let me send over five thousand dollars for an apartment she wasn’t living in.”
Mom’s voice hardened.
“I was trying to prevent this exact reaction.”
“What reaction?”
“You cutting her off.”
I stood there with the phone against my ear, completely stunned.
“So you knew she was deceiving me, and you hid it because you thought I might stop giving her money if I knew the truth.”
“When you say it like that—”
“How else can I say it?”
“She needed help.”
“She was making eight hundred dollars a month off an apartment I paid for.”
“She used that for Lily.”
“You keep saying Lily like her name turns dishonesty into necessity.”
Mom began crying.
I hated that.
Not because I didn’t care.
Because crying had always ended our difficult conversations.
Dad used to surrender immediately.
Amber did too.
Mom cried.
Everyone changed direction.
I didn’t.
“Mom, I love you.”
She sniffed.
“But?”
“But you were wrong.”
“I know.”
“No. I need you to actually understand this.”
“I said I know.”
“You chose protecting Amber from consequences over protecting me from being used.”
Silence.
“And yesterday,” I continued, “you chose protecting Lily from possible disappointment over protecting Max’s birthday from being taken over.”
“She’s a child.”
“So is he.”
“I know.”
“Then why does everyone remember that only when Lily is upset?”
She had no answer.
That evening, I told Aunt Mel privately what Frank had told me.
I didn’t put it in the group chat.
I wasn’t interested in humiliating Amber.
Mel responded:
That explains something.
I called her.
“What?”
“Amber borrowed money from me two months ago.”
“How much?”
“Three thousand.”
“For what?”
“She said she was two months behind on rent.”
My stomach turned.
“She wasn’t behind.”
“I know that now.”
“Did she pay you back?”
“No.”
I sat down.
“Aunt Mel, don’t put this in the chat.”
“I won’t.”
“Who else did she borrow from?”
“I don’t know.”
“You think there are others?”
“I know there are.”
“How?”
“Because Jason called me twenty minutes ago.”
I closed my eyes.
“How much?”
“Two thousand.”
The pattern widened.
Over the next hour, I learned Amber had borrowed from three relatives.
$3,000 from Mel.
$2,000 from Jason.
$1,200 from Rachel.
Each time, the reason was slightly different.
Rent.
Car trouble.
School expenses.
None of them knew about the others.
By nine o’clock, I had a legal pad on my table.
Not because I intended to collect anything.
Because I needed to understand.
Rent support from me.
Sublet money.
Loans from relatives.
No rent at Ryan’s house.
Where had the money gone?
At 9:38, someone knocked.
I opened the door.
Amber stood there.
No sunglasses.
No confidence.
She looked exhausted.
In her hand was a large brown envelope.
“I need you to read this before you decide I’m a monster.”
I stared at the envelope.
“What is it?”
She held it toward me.
“Everything.”
I didn’t take it immediately.
Then I saw the return address printed in the corner.
It wasn’t from a bank.
It wasn’t from her landlord.
It was from the office of a family-law attorney.
May you like
And beneath the address, written in Amber’s handwriting, was one name I hadn’t heard in years.
Darren.
