Page 8 of Just My Luck

He did his best—and failed—to hide a grin. “Sorry, Mama.”

I sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “I missed my chickens today.” One hand smoothed over Tillie’s brown locks as the other patted Ben’s calf.

“Mama, can I join the soccer team?” Ben’s hopeful voice rang out. “Everyone is on the soccer team at school.”

“Oooh, I want to take dance lessons!” added my daughter, the twins’ eyes shining with excitement.

Their requests tugged at my heartstrings as my smile flattened. I wanted to give them everything, but the weight of my financial worries pressed down on me. When I’d fled LA after the divorce, I had no job, and getting the twins enrolled in school was my top priority. Every penny I had squirreled away had been spent on the divorce and on moving us across the country to where we could have a fresh start. The burned-out husk of the farmhouse and crumbling state of my grandfather’s cabin only added to my growing list of concerns about how I was going to continue making ends meet.

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow, okay? I promise we’ll figure something out,” I reassured them, leaning in to give each a good night kiss.

With them placated, I tickled their backs and tucked them in, then slipped into the hallway. Before I closed the door, I heard Tillie whisper, “Soccer and dance are too expensive.”

My chest ached. They were too little to understand the stressors of money troubles. Hell, my upbringing was a stark contrast to the tiny run-down cabin. As a seven-year-old, I hadwanted for nothing. Now I was scraping to get by, and my kids were feeling it.

In the dim light of the living room, Granddad sat in his well-worn chair, staring into the distance. His once-lively eyes now held a hint of sadness, and the lines on his face had deepened.

“Granddad, are you okay?” I asked, my voice a gentle murmur.

He sighed, his gaze lifting to meet mine. “I’m just tired, Sloaney. Tired and feeling the weight of time. But don’t you worry about an old man like me.”

His words hung in the air, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that the threads holding our world together were beginning to fray. The challenges ahead seemed insurmountable, but as I sat beside my grandfather, I felt peace.

“I can fix this,” I promised, sitting on the arm of the recliner and folding my body over his with a hug.

My grandfather’s creases deepened with concern as he patted my hand. “Nothing to fix, Sloaney.”

His words were meant to comfort me, but instead I could feel the resigned sadness in his tone. I had to figure something out—for the sake of my children and the fading light in my grandfather’s eyes.

Unable to slow my mind, I sat at the small kitchen table and worried as I doomscrolled through social media. The soft glow of my phone illuminated the room, casting an ominous glow on the rustic surroundings. Frustrated with myself, a plan started to form in my mind. It was a long shot, but there was a chance it could work.

With a sense of determination, I closed out the social media app and opened my email. Tapping away, I fired off a quick inquiry to the bank holding my trust fund, wondering whether there was any way to unlock those funds now that there was some time and distance between Jared and my divorce.

In that moment, with the quiet hum of the cabin around me, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, in the midst of life’s twists and turns, there was a chance not just to rebuild my granddad’s farmhouse but to shape a brighter future for my kids and me.

Subject:Inquiry about Trust Fund Access

Hi Mrs. Cumberton,

I hope this email finds you well. My name is Sloane Robinson. We’ve spoken before regarding a trust fund with your bank. I was wondering if there’s any possibility or process to access my funds for a significant life event. I understand there might be certain criteria or steps involved, and I would greatly appreciate any guidance or information you can provide.

Thank you for your time and assistance.

Warm regards,

Sloane Robinson

As I hit send onthat email, a mix of emotions swirled within me. The very notion of navigating the complexities of my trust fund, a result of my father’s hard work and savvy business decisions, often stirred resentment. After my father’s unexpected death, my stepmother cut all ties with me. She was irritated enough that his entire fortune didn’t automatically transfer to her and made no qualms about her concerns with my then-husband.

At the time I had been married to Jared, and I ventured a guess they both saw the signs I had chosen to ignore. Jared was nothing but impulsive decisions and reckless actions. Now that I was a bit older and finally free of him, there had to be a way to use the money my father had set aside for me to get us out of this shithole.

In the quiet darkness of my granddad’s cabin, a quiet pride emerged as I set aside my shame and reservations. The emailmarked a tiny step toward independence, a choice to carve my own path beyond the weight of family history and the poor choices of a defiant young woman.

A small smile played on my lips as I stared at the screen. Venturing into the unknown, I embraced the possibilities ahead, recognizing that taking charge of our destiny meant confronting the shadows of my past.

I had already done hard things and, damn it, I’d do them again.

FOUR

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