My mother didn’t offer a hug. She looked straight past me into the house.

“You look terrible,” she said. “Anyway, we need forty thousand dollars.”

I’d thought grief had hollowed me out completely. I was wrong. Something colder was already moving in to fill the space.

“For what?”

Julian finally looked up. “An emergency. Don’t make it dramatic.”

My father stepped forward, his jaw tight. “Your brother’s restaurant has a tax issue. Family helps family.”

I glanced at the black mourning dress still hanging over a chair. Then at Chloe’s tiny pink backpack beside the staircase.

“You missed their funeral,” I whispered.

My mother’s face hardened. “After everything we’ve done for you, you owe us!”

I looked them dead in the eye, filled with a strange, absolute stillness. Slowly, I reached for the thick blue folder resting on the hall table.

For the first time in my life, these people had come to the wrong door.