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And slowly, his expression shifted.
Confusion first.
Then discomfort.
Then something much harder to name.
“This doesn’t make sense,” he said. “Why do you have his financial records?”
Annie didn’t answer immediately.
Because she knew the moment she spoke, something would break that couldn’t be fixed.
“That truck he promised you,” she said finally, “doesn’t exist.”
Gabe looked up sharply. “What?”
“There was no lake house the way he made it sound. There were no investments. No business success story. Most of what you’ve seen online…” She exhaled slowly. “It was curated. It was performance.”
He shook his head, already resisting. “No. That’s not true. He travels. I’ve seen it.”
“Gabe,” she said gently, “he posts hotel lobbies. Not ownership. He posts borrowed moments. Not stability.”
The room went quiet again, but this time it wasn’t heavy—it was unstable.
He flipped through more pages faster now. Searching for something to disprove her.
Annie watched him carefully.
Because this was the part she had feared for years—not the truth itself, but the moment he finally had to carry it.
“You’re saying he’s broke?” Gabe asked.
“I’m saying he chooses appearances over responsibility,” she replied. “And I’m saying I protected you from that choice for as long as I could.”
His jaw tightened. “You didn’t protect me. You just kept me here.”
That hit harder than anything else he had said.
Annie nodded once. “Yes.”
No defense. No justification.
Just honesty.
Gabe looked down again at the papers, but his anger wasn’t gone—it had changed shape. It was more personal now. Less about a car. More about identity.
“So what am I supposed to do with this?” he asked. “Why give me this instead of letting me leave?”
Annie pushed the keys closer to him.
“These belong to something real,” she said.
He frowned. “What is it?”
She hesitated.
Then spoke carefully.
“Your father doesn’t own much. But what he does have… he hides well. There’s a storage unit under his name. One he forgot I knew about. Those keys open it.”
Gabe stared at her. “You broke into his stuff?”
“I didn’t break anything,” she said. “I documented what was already there. Because one day, you were going to ask me why your life never felt as stable as his pictures looked.”
His throat tightened slightly, but he didn’t respond.
Annie leaned forward just a little.
“I didn’t give you a car because a car would’ve kept you comfortable in a lie,” she said. “And you were already starting to build your life around one.”
Gabe looked down at the keys again.
They suddenly felt heavier than anything expensive she could have bought.
“What’s in the storage unit?” he asked quietly.
Annie’s voice softened.
“The truth he never showed you.”
He let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “And you think I’m just supposed to go dig through it like some… investigation?”
“I think,” she said carefully, “you’re old enough to decide whether you want a life built on promises… or reality.”
That word—reality—sat between them for a long moment.
Finally, Gabe stood up.