Part 2: My grandmother thought my student loans were paid off years ago, completely unaware that my father had been pocketing her monthly payments while leaving me in debt.

The drive over to Dad’s subdivision in Greenfield felt like driving to an execution. My grip on the steering wheel was so tight my knuckles turned stark white. Every memory of the last four years flashed through my mind like a cruel slideshow.

I remembered working through severe bronchitis in the winter of 2021 because missing a weekend shift meant missing my loan payment. I remembered eating instant ramen for three straight weeks so I could afford my car insurance and my monthly principal. I remembered Dad casually telling me, *“A little hard work never killed anyone, Halley. Builds character. Teaches you not to rely on handouts.”*

He had looked me dead in the eye and said that, knowing he was sitting on the very cash meant to set me free.

We pulled into the curved driveway of his two-story brick home. There it was, parked beside the three-car garage: the gleaming twenty-foot Ranger bass boat with dual outboard motors.

"Look at it," Grandma Evelyn said, her voice dropping an octave. "Elwood drove that rusted-out Chevy pickup until the day he died. He wouldn't even spend money to fix the air conditioning in the truck because he wanted to make sure the family was looked after."

We got out of the car. The front door of the house swung open before we even reached the porch steps. Dad stepped out, wearing a polo shirt, khakis, and holding a can of craft beer. He had the relaxed, unbothered posture of a man who believed he was completely untouchable.

"Mom? Halley?" He blinked, clearly confused by our sudden arrival. A patronizing grin spread across his face. "What brings the two of you by unannounced? Don't tell me you broke down on the highway again, Halley. I told you that Honda of yours is on its last legs."

"The Honda runs just fine, Richard," Grandma said, walking right past him through the open door and into the foyer.

Dad looked at me, his smile wavering slightly. "Everything okay? What's going on?"

I didn't say a word. I followed Grandma into the living room. My stepmother, Linda, was sitting on the sectional sofa watching television. When she saw the expressions on our faces, the remote dropped into her lap.

"Evelyn? Halley? Is something wrong?" Linda asked, sitting up straight.

Grandma didn’t beat around the bush. She unzipped her purse, pulled out the ledger page with the stapled cashier's check, and tossed it flat onto the glass coffee table between them.

The paper made a sharp *slap* against the glass.

Dad walked into the room, wiping condensation from his beer can onto his shorts. His eyes flicked down to the coffee table, and in an instant, the color drained completely from his face. It was as if his soul had been sucked out through his boots.

"What's this?" Linda asked, reaching for the paper.

"Don't touch that, Linda," Dad snapped, his voice cracking with sudden panic.

"No, go ahead, Linda," I said, stepping forward, my voice dangerously calm. "Read it. Read the amount, read who it’s made out to, and read the note Dad left for Grandpa four years ago."

Linda picked up the document. Her eyes widened as she scanned the handwriting. "Thirty-four thousand dollars? Richard... what is this?"

Dad swallowed hard. His eyes darted toward the hallway, looking for an exit, looking for an excuse, looking for anything to save him from the corner he had just been backed into.

"Mom," Dad began, holding his hands up placatingly. "You don't understand the whole story. You're taking this out of context."

"Out of context?" Grandma took a step toward him. Though she barely stood five feet tall, in that moment she looked ten feet high. "Your father died believing Halley was too cold-hearted to thank him for paying off her education. Did you pay those loans, Richard? Look me in the eye and tell me you paid them."