I typed slowly. “Mom, you told me you needed a break from my kid. Her name is Poppy. She is your granddaughter, and she was three hundred miles away from you when you decided she was too much.” I paused, then added, “I am not sending money for property taxes. But I would like to know where the roof money went.” I pressed send, and my hands trembled. The three dots appeared at once.

Her reply came in seconds. “What roof money? Your father handled that.” My stomach dropped. Then the phone rang, and Dad’s name filled the screen. His voice was low and rough. “Holly, do not answer your mother. Come to the house alone. There is something I should have told you months ago.” Behind him I heard Mom shouting, then a door slamming hard.