They pushed the $3,450 total toward me at my sister’s birthday… My mom raised her glass: “She’s the daughter I’m proud of.” Then the waiter placed the slip showing $3,450 right in front of me, like it was the most natural thing in the world. My sister just smirked while everyone waited. I stood up—and slid it back…
The private room at The Monarch, a high‑end steakhouse tucked into a side street off Chicago’s Magnificent Mile smelled of truffle oil, seared beef, and quiet money. The kind of place where the napkins are heavier than the rent I paid in grad school and the staff never lets your water glass get less…
