When will you achieve that?” I just smiled, “Already! You would have seen it if you’d made it to my birthday party.” A collective gasp filled the room, and my mom’s cheeks flushed. I’m Vanessa, 30 years old, and I just bought a house.
Not just any house— a gorgeous three-bedroom place with an outdoor terrace and this amazing garden full of flowers. The realtor kept going on about the mature landscaping and established flower beds, but all I could see was my morning coffee spot and weekend gardening sessions. Standing in that empty living room with the keys in my hand, I felt like I was going to burst.
This was mine. After years of crappy landlords and thin walls where I could hear my neighbors’ every fight, I finally had my own space. The mortgage paperwork was still warm in my purse, and I wanted to call someone, anyone, to share this moment.
But I didn’t. I had this crazy idea brewing. What if I surprised everyone?
My birthday was coming up in a few weeks, and I could kill two birds with one stone: A surprise birthday party/housewarming. My parents would flip when they walked in and realized their daughter owned actual property. My sister Clare would probably die of shock.
See, my family has this thing where they think I’m the screw-up. I’m the younger daughter who never quite measured up to Clare’s standards. She’s 32, has this fancy job in marketing, and always seems to have her life together.
Meanwhile, I’ve been bouncing between rental apartments and entry-level jobs for the past decade. At least that’s what they think. What they don’t know is that I’ve been working my ass off at a tech startup for the past three years.
We got acquired six months ago, and suddenly my stock options were worth real money— enough money to put down on this house and still have savings left over. But I never told them about the job change or the windfall. Why would I?
They never asked about my life anyway. My parents, David and Linda, have always been laser-focused on Clare. She was the star student, the one who got into the good college, the one who landed the corporate job straight out of graduation.
I was the afterthought, the one who needed to find herself. Even now, at 30, they still talk to me like I’m some lost teenager who might figure things out eventually. The plan was perfect.
I’d text everyone about my birthday party, get them all excited, and then surprise reveal that we’re celebrating at my new house. I could already picture my mom’s face when she realized her failure daughter had bought a place before Clare did. I spent the next two weeks getting the house ready.
I bought furniture, hung pictures, and even planted some new flowers in the garden. Everything had to be perfect for the big reveal. I made a guest list: my parents, Clare, and my closest friends— Sarah, Mike, and Jenny.
Sarah and I have been tight since college. Mike’s this guy I met at work who became like a brother to me, and Jenny’s been my neighbor-turned-friend for years. The text went out on a Tuesday evening: “Hey everyone, I’m throwing a birthday party next Saturday at 7:00 p.m.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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