Christmas morning, I woke to tires crunching through fresh snow. Through my bedroom window, I saw Mom’s old blue sedan stop at the end of the driveway. Dad stepped out holding a faded manila folder, and Mom followed in her slippers, her eyes swollen from crying. I opened the front door before they could knock. “Carolyn,” Mom whispered, “Mrs. Odom told me where she saw your house. We watched the special twice this morning. Why didn’t anyone tell us?”

Then a third door slammed. Delaney climbed out of the back seat, pale and silent, her coat buttoned wrong. Dad slid a stack of bank statements from the folder. “Two years of transfers, Carolyn,” he said. “Eighty-six thousand dollars, sent to your sister to cover debts she swore were yours.” I stared at the numbers, and my knees went weak, because I had never owed anyone a single dollar.