I drove to Salt Lake City that weekend, leaving Poppy with Naomi. Dad was waiting on the porch with a shoebox of papers. He admitted the $6,500 roof payment had never gone to a roofer. Trent had asked for it quietly, to cover gambling debts, and Dad had agreed, ashamed, hiding it from Mom. The roof still leaked. The property tax trouble was the result.

Mom arrived and, to my surprise, was crying. She admitted she had treated Poppy coldly because she blamed me for Brandon leaving, and she had been embarrassed in front of her friends. She had never said it aloud, and her cruelty had grown from there. She told me the birthday text was the worst thing she had ever written, and she hated that I saw it.

Trent showed up an hour later and confessed everything without being asked. Dad had told him I knew. He handed me a cashier’s check for $2,000, all he had, and promised to attend a program for his gambling. I did not forgive on the spot. I told them I would help with a proper roofer, paid directly, and nothing else until they met Poppy and treated her as family.

They drove to Denver the next week. Mom held Poppy for an hour without speaking, then whispered an apology into the baby’s hair. It was awkward and imperfect, but real. Now we visit monthly, and every Christmas Audrey sends Poppy a card, addressed to “our favorite guest.” I keep both families close, and I choose carefully.