My parents gifted me a down payment for a house. I came to the brutal realization that I had to make them take it back without them discovering the real reason. Cue fake renovation plans, manufactured risks, and the biggest deception I’ve ever pulled on the people who raised me.

I stood in our living room, my hands trembling slightly as I held out the stack of renovation plans.

The familiar scent of Mom’s lavender candles mixed with the coffee Dad had been nursing all afternoon, a combination that usually meant home and safety.

Not today, though.

Today, my stomach churned as I prepared to deliberately deceive the two people who’d given me everything.

Dad sat in his usual armchair, the one with the worn leather arms where he’d spent countless evenings helping me with homework.

The afternoon sun caught the silver threading through his dark hair — when had that happened?

Mom perched on the edge of the sofa, her reading glasses sliding down her nose as she peered at the papers I was about to present. Her fingers worried at the corner of her cardigan, a nervous habit I’d inherited.

“So,” I began, proud of how steady I kept my voice, “I’ve been working on something exciting.”

I handed over the plans, watching their faces carefully. The papers trembled slightly in my grip, documents that had taken two days of frantic preparation with my architect friend Jamie.

“I’ve decided I want to spend the down payment money you gifted me after graduation on a fixer-upper that could be converted into a duplex. The return on investment could be incredible.”

Dad’s forehead creased as he studied the first page.
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