Part 1The Condo My Uncle Gave Me 16 Years Ago is Now Worth $865,000.

My uncle called me out of the blue, saying he urgently needed $340,000 for an emergency.

I was put in a tough spot; after all, that’s a massive amount of money.

Before I could process it, my husband chimed in: "When your uncle gave you that condo years ago, he definitely wasn't expecting anything in return, right?"

I nodded.

He scoffed. "Then what right does he have to ask you for money now?"

"He gave it to you, it's yours. Now that the property value went up, he wants to leech off it? In his dreams."

I froze completely.

On the other end of the line, my uncle heard every single word.

* * *

The other end of the line was dead silent.

That silence travelled through the receiver, piercing my eardrum like an ice-cold needle.

Every passing second felt like I was being fried in a vat of hot oil.

I could imagine my uncle’s honest, hardworking face instantly turning ashen on the other side.

"Uncle..."

I forced the word out, my throat feeling like it was stuffed with wet cotton.

Click.

The call disconnected.

It wasn't an angry slam of the phone, but the kind of disconnect where the phone just slips from powerless fingers.

My hand was still suspended in mid-air, the phone screen already gone dark.

The bright lights of our living room suddenly made me feel freezing cold.

Mark, my husband, the man I had shared a bed with for five years, was sitting on the sofa across from me.

There wasn't a trace of guilt on his face; if anything, he looked somewhat smug.

"See? I called him out, and he hung up. He knows he's in the wrong."

He picked up an apple from the coffee table and took a hard bite, making a loud, crisp crunch.

"I’m doing this for your own good, Chloe."

"You're just too soft-hearted. You let people walk all over you."

"These broke relatives of yours, they see you doing well now, see your property went up in value, and they want a piece of the pie."

"Today he has the nerve to ask for three hundred and forty grand. Tomorrow he'll ask for more."

"It's a bottomless pit, and we are not jumping in."

Every word he said was like a poisoned blade, stabbing with pinpoint accuracy into the softest part of my heart.

I looked at him. This face that I once found so handsome, so reliable, now looked entirely alien. Ugly, even.

"Mark, that's my uncle."

My voice trembled with an anger I didn't even know I was capable of.

"When my parents passed away, all our other relatives avoided me like the plague."

"It was my uncle. He drained his life savings to buy me this condo, just so I would have a roof over my head."

"You can't put a price tag on that kind of grace."

Mark sneered, casually tossing the apple core into the trash.

"Grace? Can grace pay the bills?"

"Wake up, Chloe. What century are you living in? You still care about that sentimental garbage?"

"When he bought you this place, what was it worth? Maybe fifty grand?"

"And what about now? Eight hundred and sixty-five thousand!"

Greed flashed in his eyes. The number sounded almost feverish coming from his mouth.

"He's trying to use a fifty-grand investment to leverage over eight hundred grand in cash out of us."

"He really knows how to play the system."

I felt all the blood in my body rush to my head.

So, in his eyes, my uncle's lifesaving grace was nothing more than a calculated financial investment.

"Us?"

I caught the word he used, a chill rising from the soles of my feet.

"Mark, this condo is a pre-marital asset. It's mine."

His face instantly darkened.

"Chloe, what is that supposed to mean?"

"We are married. What's yours is mine, isn't it?"

"I work my ass off for this family, do I get no credit?"

He began to list his "sacrifices" over the years.

Commuting every day, visiting my hometown during the holidays.

He painted himself as the ultimate, selfless family man.

I only found it ironic.

We had been married for five years, and I covered the vast majority of our household expenses.

Because I made more money than him.

As for his income, to use his words, "A man needs walking around money for networking, and I need to save up for big investments."

And now, he was already fantasizing about that $865,000.

"Once we sell this place, we'll upgrade to a big house in the suburbs. One with a yard."

"Then we'll help my brother put a down payment on a starter home downtown. He's getting to that age."

"Whatever's left, we save. Boom, college fund for our future kids, sorted."

He planned it all out so naturally.

As if my uncle's only purpose for existing was to provide him and his family with a more comfortable life.

I was completely chilled to the bone.

This man. I had loved him for five years. I thought he would be my rock for the rest of my life.

But in the end, in his world, family, grace, everything... none of it held a candle to money.

I didn't want to argue with him anymore.

Any words felt pale and powerless in the face of such naked greed.

I turned, walked into the bedroom, and shut the door.

I locked all of his filthy words outside.

I dug out an old photo album from the deepest part of my nightstand.

The cover was yellowed, the edges frayed.

The very first page was a photo of me and my uncle.

I was sixteen that year, having just lost my parents, skinny as a rail.

I was wearing an ill-fitting school hoodie, my eyes full of terror and confusion.

My uncle stood beside me, his rough, broad hand gripping my shoulder tightly.

His face couldn't hide his exhaustion, but the way he looked at me was full of determination and fierce compassion.

The background of the photo was this very studio apartment.

Back then, this area was still a dirt lot.

But my uncle pointed at the construction site and said to me: "Chloe, don't be scared. This is going to be your home from now on."

Tears, without any warning, smashed onto the photo album, blurring a small patch.

The bedroom door was violently shoved open.

Mark barged in, reeking of alcohol.

"Chloe, I'm warning you, you are not allowed to contact that uncle of yours again!"

His face was flushed, his eyes vicious.

"And do not mention money! Not a single word!"

"If you dare give him money behind my back, we are done!"

I looked at him coldly.

"Mark, what gives you the right?"

He was enraged by my stare, his voice pitching higher.

"What gives me the right? I am your husband!"

"The food you eat, the clothes you wear, the things you use—what part of it isn't provided by the Miller family?"

"You’re an orphan with nothing! If I hadn't been blind enough to marry you, who knows what gutter you'd be floating in right now!"

"Do you really think you're some high-class city girl now?"

"Let me tell you, those broke hicks from your hometown aren't getting a single dime from me!"

Every sentence felt like a ringing slap across my face.

So, this whole time, in his heart, I was just a destitute orphan.

My only value was attached to an appreciating piece of real estate.

I looked at him, and suddenly, I laughed.

The sound was alien even to me—sharp, and full of absolute desolation.

That night was destined to be sleepless.

I stared wide-eyed at the ceiling until the first light of dawn crept through the window.

I made a decision.

No matter what, I was going to help my uncle.

Even if it meant selling this condo.