One evening, while my dad and I were casually discussing finances, he unexpectedly asked, "Is your allowance sufficient?" The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard since I had no memory of ever receiving an allowance. Suddenly, a rush of bewilderment and curiosity flooded my mind, as if I had stumbled onto a hidden family secret.
Had he been giving someone else money all this time?
The next morning, I tore my room apart searching for clues about the mysterious allowance. I riffled through old birthday cards, dug under stacks of books, and even felt around the edges of my walls, hoping for a hidden compartment. It was an exercise in futility; nothing pointed to an allowance. My frustration grew as I realized I would have to dig deeper to solve this puzzle.
After school, curiosity got the best of me. I approached my dad cautiously, worried about what his response would be. "Are you sure you've been giving me an allowance?" I asked. He seemed puzzled, insisting the money was sent to my bank account. Each word felt like another layer of confusion, and driven by the need to understand, I hurriedly decided to visit the bank for answers.