At six the next morning, my phone rang with Dad’s number, and his voice sounded small and shaken. “Allison, your mother is sitting on the kitchen floor holding the phone,” he said. “Mrs. Dunlap just told her everything.” I sat down slowly. “Told her what?” Dad whispered, “That your house was on television, and that we weren’t there.” Behind him, I heard Mom crying and Paige shouting something sharp.

Then Dad lowered his voice further. “Allison, there is something else. Paige never needed groceries. Please do not hang up. I am driving to you right now.” The line went dead. I stared at the tree lights, my pulse racing. An hour later, a dusty car crept up my snowy drive, and through the window I saw Dad climb out, carrying a worn cardboard box tied with twine.