A week later, Julian met his family at the station as the evening light began to fail. He'd made enough recently to buy them plane tickets, but they'd refused the extravagance. Instead, they'd stayed with a relative the night before to catch the earliest train into the city.

His parents were dressed in their best, each wheeling a suitcase. They looked indistinguishable from any other traveler in NYC.

His mother leaned in, her voice hushed. She'd brought two farm-raised chickens in her luggage. "Your uncle raised them," she said. Julian didn't mention that the high-end grocery store downstairs sold chickens with traceable QR codes. It was a heart-felt gift. He thanked her and took the heavy suitcase.

They took the subway. Julian tried to teach them how to use their phones for the turnstiles. His father managed it after two tries. His mother stood frozen on the other side, trapped by the digital pass.

"How can you be this useless?" his father snapped.

Julian stepped in and reset her phone. The turnstile chirped. His mother hurried through, face flushed with embarrassment. "These phones are too much trouble," she grumbled to Julian. "Why didn't you get me a card like Jason's?"

Julian had given Jason a standard transit card. "Cards get lost. The phone is easier once you're used to it."

His mother fell silent, hovering behind his father. Jason followed, eyes glued to a gaming advertisement on the station wall.

"Move it," his father barked. "The train is here."

Jason dragged his feet. "Jules, I'm so jealous. My favorite pro team is based in this city."

Julian hadn't even noticed the ad. Jason started rambling about his rank in the game, his expression full of unearned pride. His father shot him a look of pure disgust. "All you do is play. You're failing your classes. You're going to be a nobody."

Jason made a face, long since numbed to the scolding. Julian stayed quiet. He didn't want to humiliate the boy in public. "Train's here. Get on."

They exited the subway into one of the city's most prestigious blocks. Julian wanted to point out the historic landmarks, the brownstones that had once housed famous authors, but he saw the shift in his parents immediately.

His father tried to maintain a mask of calm, but Julian could feel their growing distress. By the time they reached the luxury high-rise, his father had gone completely silent.

Julian felt a pang of guilt he couldn't quite name. He led them inside, showing them the layout. He gave his parents the master suite, opting to sleep on an air mattress in the study with Jason.

His father stared at the king-sized bed. It took him a full minute to find his voice. "You can afford a place like this?"

"My boss is letting me house-sit," Julian lied. "I'm doing him a favor."

"That's a smart move." His father's confidence returned slightly as he offered a few more uninspired critiques of the decor. Julian didn't engage. It was late. He suggested dinner.

Hosting them was a chore. They refused anything "too expensive" or "too strange," eventually settling on a small place serving food from their home province. Julian let them order, but they refused to touch the menu. He ordered three dishes. They told him it was enough.

NYC had its own currency. To them, the prices were an insult.

The plates were empty within minutes. Julian offered to order more. They insisted they were full. Julian watched his father scrape the remaining sauce onto a bowl of plain rice.

The bitterness in Julian's throat was hard to swallow. He told them he was still hungry and ordered two more dishes. They ate those, too.

Leaving the restaurant, Julian's heart felt heavy. He'd spent years resenting them, but seeing them like this made him feel like a monster. They were casualties of their time. He had no right to judge.

They walked to the promenade. The NYC skyline glittered across the water. For the first time, the tension left his parents' faces. They smiled, pulling out their phones. Julian took their photos—iconic tourist shots. He stayed behind the lens. He wasn't in any of the pictures.

The weekend was a blur of Brooklyn and Disney. Julian even celebrated his birthday at the park. He thought he'd be happy, but the "Birthday" sticker felt like a joke.

Since their arrival, he'd been a live wire. He was constantly braced for a critique, a sharp word he didn't want to hear. He was polite, but he felt the hard spikes of his own defense mechanisms rising every time they shared a room. He was perpetually on guard.

He'd expected them to make his life difficult, but he was wrong. For two days, they were kind. They went wherever he suggested. They worried over him. They heart-ached for him like any other normal family.

Julian didn't know how to handle the affection he'd spent a lifetime craving. He felt suffocated. He started to wonder if he was the one who was broken. Maybe they were always okay. Maybe I'm just ungrateful.

Their only complaints were the costs. Thirty-dollar lattes. Fifty-dollar loaves of bread. Eighty-five-dollar turkey legs at Disney. A casual dinner for three topped two hundred dollars. Even a bowl of street noodles was twenty bucks.

"Never again," his mother complained when they returned. "We can eat for a week at home for the price of one meal here. We're cooking in the kitchen from now on."

She brought out the village chickens, determined to "fix" Julian's health. He told her not to worry about it. He tried to book a tour of the upstate historic towns for them—he had to work and wouldn't be able to entertain them during the week—but they refused the expense.

Julian gave up. He started ordering groceries online for them. His mother complained about the bills. She tried to go to the market herself, but the prices at the high-end grocer downstairs sent her running back empty-handed.

The overtime continued. Julian returned home after midnight every night. His parents were always asleep. They only saw each other for a few minutes in the mornings.

One night, Julian walked in to find his mother on the sofa. She'd drifted off and jolted awake at the sound of the door. "Every day this late?" she asked, eyes heavy with sleep.

"Yes." Julian dropped his bag. "Why aren't you in bed?"

"I had nothing else to do. I made you soup." She ladled a bowl of the chicken broth and handed it to him.

The sudden warmth made Julian's hands shake. He whispered a thanks.

"Your job is too hard," she said, her tone softening. "Do they pay you extra for this?"

"No," Julian said. Only full days counted as extra.

"Everything here is so expensive," she sighed. "You must be spending a fortune. Julian... don't send us money this month. Keep it for yourself."

Julian froze. The concern was a physical weight. He didn't want the kindness; it felt like a debt he could never repay. He wanted their books to stay balanced.

"It's fine," he said, shaking his head. "I make enough for both."

His mother went quiet.

In the silence, the rhythmic clicking of a controller echoed from the study. Julian frowned. "Why is Jason still awake?"

"He's always like that," she said, as if it were a fact of nature. "He plays all night."

"He's a minor," Julian snapped. "He's only supposed to have three hours on weekends."

"The rules don't stop him. Your brother is clever," she said, her voice a mix of complaint and pride. "He learned how to use our IDs to get around the limits."

Julian stared at her, disbelief hardening into anger. "And you don't stop him?"

"He wants to play. What can I do?"

"You're the parent!"

"He doesn't listen! I can't hit him, and words don't work. How am I supposed to manage him?"

Julian felt something snap. "If you weren't going to raise him, why did you even have him?"